The Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984
by Dhrelva
Summary: Before Harris could finish reading his own address, the letter was snatched out of his hands. "Harris got in!" screamed a young boy's voice. "Harris got in Hogwarts!" And so it begins . . .
1. Summary/Disclaimer

The Tragyls at Hogwarts  
  
Summary: The Tragyls are a pure-blood wizarding family. Waltr Tragyl comes from a long line of wealthy Slytherins. Keriesa Weasley Tragyl, his wife, comes from a long line of poor, but influential, Gryffindors. This story covers the years that their eight children attend Hogwarts (overlaps Harry's time there in later parts).  
  
Can also be found at http://www.geocities.com/i_spend_all_my_time/traghog.html  
  
  
The Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984  
  
Summary: Harris Tragyl, the oldest of eight children, begins his first year at Hogwarts.  
  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hogwarts, and anything you recognize are JK Rowling's.   
  
Note on Years: Working on the assumption that Harry began in 1991. See the HP Source on Nomad's site: http://www.dreamwater.net/nomadsrealm/ for the rational behind that. 


	2. Sing a Song of Sorting

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter One: Sing a Song of Sorting 

**Harris Tragyl  
2nd bedroom on the right, 3rd floor**

Before Harris could finish reading his own address, the letter was snatched out of his hands. "Harris got in!" screamed a young boy's voice. "Harris got in Hogwarts!" The small, red-haired boy ran out of the dinning room, proudly waving the unopened letter as though it were his own. 

Harris sprang to his feet and gave chase into the foyer. "Gimme that, you red-headed midget! It's mine!" 

Despite being half Harris's size, the younger boy's suprise attack had given him a strong lead. Another boy, identical to the smaller boy, reached him first. "Let me see!" The letter exchanged hands as they ran up the wide staircase. The second twin ripped open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. The envelope was dropped on the top stair. Harris scooped it up as he passed by. The twins' lead was narrowing. 

The second twin tried to read the letter as they sprinted down the hall to the stairway up to the third floor. The first pushed him along, in an attempt to make him move faster. "Go, go, Clarence!" The commotion was drawing some notice, and doors along the second floor hallway opened, and more children spilled into the hall. Harris pushed past the ones that got in his way. 

The twins reached the top of the stairs and scrambled over the babygate. They barely avoided landing on a tiny girl with hair so blond it was white. "Dear Mr. Tragyl," the second twin began reading loudly when he saw he had a good sized audience coming up the stairs and from the rooms behind him. "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at-" Harris had by now reached the top of the stairs. The first twin used the baby gate to hold him back, retreating away from the stairs, but keeping him away from Clarence. His twin raised his voice, to be heard over the racket, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September first. We await your owl by no later than July thiry-first. Yours sincerely, Minverva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress." 

The reading twin passed that note to his defending brother, who then passed it over the gate to Harris. Somewhat molified now that he had hold of the admission letter, he stopped fighting to get at the second twin, and read the letter silently for himself. The second twin scanned the other sheet, and read off the section headings. "Uniform, Course Books, Other Equipment." He looked up, exicited. "Harris! You can't bring your broom. Can I have it?" 

His attack was sudden enough to take the first twin by surprise. He broke through the barrier, and snatched the equipment list from his younger brother. He found the line "PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS" prominently displayed at the bottom and frowned. Clarence was still looking at him, eyes pleading. Harris scowled. "Not a chance, firetop." The boy looked disappointed, but not surprised. 

With the first bid rejected, a chorus of "Can I?"'s rose from the watching brothers. 

"No!" 

A squeal rose from the other end of the hallway, and the kids all turned toward the sound. A squat house-elf was half-running, half-limping toward them. "Lulli grab Tryna! Lulli grab Tryna!" it exclaimed dodging between the children, and caught the little girl just before she fell down the stairs. The older boys standing nearby looked embarassed for not paying attention to their sister's determined attempt to make it beyond the baby gate's normal position. 

The house elf's shriek drew out the mistress of the house, where the kid's shouting had not. Mrs. Tragyl frowned up at the gaggle of children loitering at the top of the stairs. "What's going on?" she asked climbing thee stairs to a more natural speaking distance. 

Lulli stood in front of Mrs. Tragyl, still holding the small girl. "Lulli grab Tryna. Tryna almost fall." 

Mrs. Tragyl smiled fondly at the elf, "Thank you for your quick rescue, Lulli." The elf all but glowed under the praise. Then the mother's eyes darkened as she regarded her sons. "And how did that gate get moved?" Caught red-handed, the first twin reddened enough that he matched his hair. Mrs. Tragyl's gaze fell on him. "Menteron?" 

"I was keeping back Harris." The woman's raised eyebrow asked 'why?' as clearly as the word. "So that Clarence could read his Hogwarts letter to everybody before Harris could steal it back." Mrs. Tragyl's gaze lightened as she turned toward Harris. "You got your letter?" 

Harris pushed through his younger siblings and showed her his acceptance letter. "Right here." She waded through her other sons to wrap him in a hug that he immediately tried to escape from. 

"I'm so proud of you." She released him, either because she knew he found it embarrassing or because she had simply finished. The reason was anybody's guess. "My first boy off to Hogwarts." Harris scowled, pretending that he wasn't mortified as she tousled his hair fondly. 

"Put that gate back where it belongs!" she snapped suddenly at Menteron, when she noticed Tryna waddling in that direction again. Menteron jumped, but did as ordered, once his brothers on the stairs came through. Mrs. Tragyl turned back to Harris, a thoughtful look on her face. "I wonder what house you'll be in?" 

"House?" one of the other boys asked. 

"Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff," Clarence said, squirming through to the front of the group. "I read about them in 'Hogwarts, A History'." Mrs. Tragyl looked surprised at her five-year old son's words. "Gryffindor is for brave people, Ravenclaw is for smart people, Slytherin is for tricky people, and Hufflepuff is for boring people." 

"Hufflepuffs are hardworking people, Clarence," Mrs. Tragyl corrected. "Not boring." 

"What were you, Ma?" A blond boy who was even taller than Harris asked. 

"Gryffindor. And Dad was Slytherin." 

The young twin frowned. "I thought Gryffindors and Slytherins hate each other." 

Mrs. Tragyl laughed, but it sounded a little forced. "Most do. But there are always exceptions. I liked your dad even though he was a Slytherin and dad liked me, even though I was a Gryffindor. And with those two rare and remarkable things happening at once, we figured it must be a sign. So we got married and here we are." 

"Is that why you don't like Gramma and Grampa Tragyl?" the blond boy asked. 

She made a mildly revolted face, as though she had just stepped on a frog. "More accurately, that's mostly why they don't like me. They're both Slytherins, too. Almost as far back as you care to trace the Tragyl line, they've all be Slytherins. On the opposite end of the spectrum, my family has all been Gryffindors for the most part. Some of them muggle-born or half-and-half. Slytherins don't much care for anyone who's not pure wizard." 

"How do they decide what house we go into?" Harris asked. 

Mrs. Tragyl shook her finger at him. "Oh, no. Nobody told me before I got there. You're just going to have to find out once you get there." She refused to say another word on the subject. 

* * *

The two youngest siblings were left home when the rest of the family took the floo network to Diagon Alley. Mr. Tragyl went first, to keep the children (especially the twins) out of trouble until the rest of the family arrived. The tall, blond boy, Jansten, went second, followed immediately by Harris. Next came the twins, Menteron and Clarence. Brent, a brown haired boy, who was older than the twins, but younger than Jansten, went after them. The last boy, a seven-year-old, and the next youngest after the twins, came just before their mother. Mrs. Tragyl took the rear. 

Once she arrived on the Diagon Alley side, she took a quick head count, and was glad to see that the twins had both successfully managed their first floo transport. Mr. Tragyl took Menteron's hand, and Mrs. Tragyl took Clarence's, then the family exited the shop and entered the main street of Diagon Alley. 

"Wow," Clarence breathed. 

"Cool," Menteron agreed, equally awestruck. The other children had been here before, and so were pretending like nothing was special. 

"Jansten, you keep an eye on Brent and Valr," Mrs. Tragyl warned as the three middle boys began to wander off. "And don't spend all your allowances in the sweet shop!" 

"I will, and we won't," Jansten promised. But the three made a beeline towards the candy store. 

Menteron tried to follow, but his father pulled him back. "Oh, no you don't. You're staying with us, midget." 

Mrs. Tragyl frowned at her husband, but didn't say anything when Menteron didn't seem to take offense at the name. He had instead fixed his attention on a shop down the street. "Oh, look! Can we go there?" 

Clarence followed his twin's pointed finger and read the sign out loud, "Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop." Then his eye fell on the one next to it. "Flourish and Blotts. A bookstore!" 

"Harris needs to pick up his books at Blotts. Keri, you take him and Firetop there. I'll let the midget take a look around the joke shop." 

Mrs. Tragyl rolled her eyes, but led Harris and her twin toward the book store. Mr. Tragyl and Menteron quickly outpaced them in Menteron's hurry to reach the joke shop. 

Not being a precocious bookworm like Clarence, Harris had never been inside the bookstore before. Both boys stared at the shelves that covered every inch of wall with books of every imaginable shape and size. "Wow," Clarence said again, in a voice even more impressed than when he had stepped into Diagon Alley. Once he recovered sufficiently to move again, he immediately made his way over to the Potions section. Mrs. Tragyl brought Harris to the propetier. The old wizard looked down over his spectacles at the boy and said, "Hogwarts student, then?" 

"First year," Mrs. Tragyl confirmed. 

The propetier collected the requisite books, muttering all the while in a voice not quite loud enough for Harris to make out. Finally, he dropped the stack of books on the counter and announced, "Well, that's all of them. Anything else?" 

Clarence appeared at Mrs. Tragyl's side as though magically summoned. He held up a stack of three books, and let his eyes do his pleading for him. She looked through the titles. _Potions of Fire_, _Less Potente Potions_, and _Potente Potions_. "Clarence, you don't know anything about potions." 

"I read the copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ that you have in your closet. I liked it." 

She frowned. "What were you doing in my closet, young man?" 

He squirmed under her scrutiny. "Looking for Menteron's birthday presents?" 

She regarded him severely for several more moments, then put the three books on top of Harris'. "But I don't want you trying to make any of these without supervision, understood?" Clarence nodded vigorously. "Good." She paid for the books, then led the two boys out of the store. Mr. Tragyl and Menteron were not to be seen. "Harris, run inside Gabols and Japes and see if you see your brother." 

Harris pushed open the door, and was astonished to find not one red-headed twin causing trouble but three of them. As he stood gape-jawed, watching three boys dart about the shop and three parents trying to catch them, Clarence ducked under his arm and joined the fray. 

"Merlin! Four, now?" the shopkeeper exclaimed in dismay. 

But Clarence's appearance actually stilled the chaos. The other set of twins stopped flying about the room in order to to stare at the new pair. Menteron broke off his fevered inventory of the shop when Clarence arrived at his side. They started talking at once; Clarence about the potion books, and Menteron about the shop's contents. 

Mrs. Tragyl entered the shop behind Harris as Mr. Tragyl grabbed hold of Menteron, a tall red-haired man grabbed hold of one of the other twins, and a short, pleasant-looking woman grabbed hold of the last. "Hello, Arthur," Mrs. Tragyl said, surprise coloring her voice as she saw the tall man. 

"Keriesa!" He grinned. "Are those two your devils?" 

She grinned. "One is. The other's my angel. I take it these demons are yours?" 

"Archdemons Fred and George, yes." The Weasley twins simultaneously stuck their tongues out at their father. "Have you got any in Hogwarts, yet, Keri?" 

Mrs. Tragyl nodded toward Harris. "My oldest is just starting. Harris, this is Arthur Weasley, my cousin. I went to Hogwarts with him." 

Harris nodded politely. "Pleasure, sir." Mr. Weasley smiled back. 

"The terror over there is Menteron," Menteron grinned and waved energetically. "And the nice one is Clarence." Clarence blushed and wiggled his fingers. "I believe you know my husband, Waltr Tragyl, right?" 

"By reputation, certainly." He herded his twin near enough to Mr. Tragyl to shake hands. This pleasantry completed, both fathers put some distance between themselves. 

Mrs. Tragyl pretended not to notice. "Have you any in Hogwarts, Arthur?" 

"Two, yes. Bill and Charlie. Bill's in his second year and Charlie's just starting as well." 

"Speaking of Charlie," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, "Mr. Ollivander has probably found him a wand by now." She hustled her twin nearer the door. 

Fred (or George) twisted back toward the Tragyl twins, "Hey! How old are you guys?" 

"Five!" Menteron called back. "You?" 

"Six!" Mrs. Weasley managed to push the twin out the door, leaving his brother to pick up his end on the conversation. George (or Fred) did so without pause. "You'll have to come visit us at the Burrow." He looked up at his father, "They can come, right, dad?" 

"Not a problem," he looked up at Mrs. Tragyl. "I'll talk to you by floo, Keri." He ushered his twin out the door, following his wife. 

Menteron somehow convinced his parents to buy him a deck of exploding snap cards and some fillibuster fireworks before they, too, left the joke store. 

Their next stop was Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The twins waved at the Weasleys as they filed out the door. A boy around Harris' age was showing off his new wand to his younger brothers. "Harris, go on in," Mr. Tragyl instructed. "Mom and the twins and me will wait out here." 

Menteron complained until Mrs. Tragyl gave him his exploding snap cards to amuse himself with. Harris entered the shop alone. The elderly wizard behind the counter was cleaning up a pile of shattered glass from a shelf. He turned around when Harris cleared his throat. "Ah! Mr. Tragyl." Harris didn't dare question how the man knew his name. 

"Let us see," he muttered as he began running his eyes and fingers over a shelf full of long thin boxes. "You mother favors oak, but your father was definitely an ebony. Here, let's start you on an oak, 9 inches, unicorn hair." He handed Harris a wand. Harris's fingers had barely touched it before the shopkeeper snatched it back. "Oh. No, no. Certainly not. The wand chooses the wizard, young Harris." He replaced the wand back in its box and the box back in its place. His fingers hovered over another shelf before selecting another box seemingly at random. 

"Willow, eight inches, pheonix tail feather. Give it a wave." Harris tried, but had the wand taken back again. "No, no, no. Not the one for you." It was returned to its place, and Ollivander approached another shelf. "Ebony, dragon heartstring, 10 inches. Much like your father's." Harris had no sooner touched the wand than a tingling warmth spread through his fingertips and up his arm. Harris gave it an experimental swish, and multi-colored lights streamed along its path. Ollivander smiled. "That's the one that wants you." 

Harris paid for the wand with the money his parents had given him for the purpose, and left the shop. Menteron and Mrs. Tragyl were playing exploding snap, Clarence was reading one of his books, and Mr. Tragyl was looking bored. They all looked up as he approached. "Ebony, dragon heartstring," he repeated the wand maker's description of his wand. "He says it's a lot like yours, dad." 

Mr. Tragyl smiled and drew his own wand for moment. "Ebony, dragon heartstring, eleven inches." 

"Mine's ten." 

The next stop was Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occassions. Anticipating a long fitting session, Mr. Tragyl took the twins for ice cream. There was another boy getting fitted in the back as Harris and Mrs. Tragyl entered. "Hogwarts?" Madam Malkin asked, but didn't wait for an answer, "Come along to the back here then." 

"Hello," the other boy greeted. "Are you a first year, too?" 

Harris stepped onto the small fitting platform. "Yeah. Harris Tragyl." 

"Weston Avery. You'll forgive me for not shaking your hand." A seamstress was pinning back his sleeves to an appropriate length, and shooting him nasty glares every time he made the smallest of movements. 

"Quite," Harris agreed, warily eyeing another woman as she bustled toward him with an armload of black fabric and a cushion full of pins. She dropped the pile of clothing into his hands and instructed he go change. He was led to a small, empty room that offered only privacy for changing into the school uniform. By the time he emerged, Avery was gone. 

Once the robes were fitted and paid for, Mrs. Tragyl and Harris reunited with Mr. Tragyl and the twins. In addition to ice cream, they had collected Harris' cauldron, telescope, crystal phials, scales, parchment, and quills. Jansten, Brent, and Valr caught up with them shortly thereafter, their faces smudged with chocolate and their pockets bulging with sweets. 

Mrs. Tragyl frowned at them, but before she could scold, each boy held up two knuts. "See? We didn't spend _all_ our allowances," Valr explained. 

* * *

None of the Tragyl children had ever been to King's Cross Station before. Of them, only Clarence and Jansten had come to see Harris off. Jansten because he'd be doing this next year, and Clarence because he was curious. Harris pushed his cart of supplies between the crowds of Muggles, Jansten following close behind. Clarence darted in and out among the throng, but never long enough to make their mother worry. "Here we are, nine and three quarters," she finally announced, coming to a stop between stations 9 and 10. Clarence materialized at her side from wherever he had recently wandered off. "Just walk straight at the pillar there." 

Harris nodded, lined up his approach and pushed his cart at the seemingly solid pillar. "A little quicker there, Harris," Mrs. Tragyl coached. Harris picked up speed and disappeared into the bricks. None of the Muggles appeared to notice, though they did look strangely at the little red-haired boy who inexplicably started clapping. 

On platform nine and three-quarters, Harris found himself looking over his shoulder at a brick wall that looked no less solid that the one he'd just walked through. He mentally shrugged off his disorientation, and pushed his cart toward the waiting, bright red train. The crowd here was less obviously muggle. Most of the occupants wore muggle clothing, but the majority held recognizably Hogwarts-required equipment among their luggage. Others were dressed in the Hogwarts robes already, though these were a small minority. Almost everyone was between the ages of 11 and 17. Only a handful of parents had entered the platform. 

With some difficulty, he manage to get his luggage into the train and find himself an empty compartment. Aside from Charlie Weasley who he had seen walking out of Olivanders, and Weston Avery who he'd passed a handful of words with, Harris didn't know anyone. Coming from a family of ten, this was a strange feeling. Everyone would be his age or older. With seven younger brothers, and one sister (youngest of them all), that would be even more odd. On the plus side, no cry-babies would wake him up in the middle of the night. 

As this pleasant thought occurred to him, two girls and a boy piled into his car, laughing. When they noticed him, they looked somewhat taken aback. "Sorry," one of the girls apologized. "Didn't realize anyone was in here." 

"I don't mind." He said politely, by way of invitation to stay. Either they accepted it, or they would have stayed anyway. The boy sat beside Harris, and the girls took the seat across. 

"Tommy Frank," the boy said, sticking out his hand. 

"Harris Tragyl," Harris return, shaking it. 

The two girls introduced themselves as Evalyn Watson and Pamela Choi. Evalyn had light brown hair plaited into a long french braid. Pamela had very straight, glossy black hair that fell to her shoulders and features that Harris could identify as 'oriental', though he'd never actually met anyone with them before. The Tragyl children had been home tutored, and they rarely met anyone outside of their immediate family. Their neighbors were all Muggles who viewed the family as 'odd', 'snobbish', and 'unwise-to-interfere-with'. Mr. Tragyl himself strongly discouraged his children from leaving the property. 

Harris smiled politely and shook each of the girls' hands in turn. "Hello." 

"Know anybody in Hogwarts already? Older brothers or cousins, I mean?" Tommy asked. 

Harris shook his head. "I've got a distant cousin who's been here a year or so already, but I never met him. All my brothers and sister are younger than me. You guys?" 

"Nah. Pam's Muggle-born, she barely knows what Hogwarts is, nevermind who's there already. I'm an only child, as are my parents, and Tommy's in the same boat as you. Oldest kid." Evalyn answered for all of them. "We were hoping you knew what to expect." 

"Ever read _Hogwarts, A History_?" Harris asked. Three heads shook. "Me either, but my kid brother did. Apparently, everyone gets sorted somehow into one of four Houses, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or, um, what was the last one? Huff-and-Puff or something like that, I think." 

"How?" Pam asked curiously, as the train started to move. 

"Mum wouldn't say, and Clarence didn't know. It depends on your personality, I guess. Clarence says Ravenclaws are smart, Gryffindors are brave, Slytherins are cunning, and Huff-and-Puffs are boring." 

"I heard almost all of the Death Eaters came from Slytherin," Tommy whispered. "It was You-Know-Whose house, too." Three of the children shuddered. Pam looked confused. "You don't want to be in that one, especially now. Best one to be in is Gryffindor. A lot of Aurors come from there, and the Potters did, too." 

"So did Sirius Black," Evalyn countered, also whispering. "And we all know what he did." 

Pam cleared her throat nervously. Because the other two had, she also spoke in whispers, "Um, I don't know what Sirius Black did and I don't know who." 

The other three look at her in surprise before Tommy recovered. "Oh, right. You're Muggle born." He exchanged looks with Harris and Evalyn. Both indicated he should tell the story. He began in a low voice. "It started a while ago, before any of us were born. A Dark Wizard started growing in power. His name was -" 

"Don't say it!" Evalyn interrupted, terror making her raise her voice. All four jumped at the outburst. Evalyn blushed. 

Tommy nodded. "I probably would've chickened out anyway. Most everyone calls the Dark Wizard 'You-Know-Who' or 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' now," he explained to Pam. "Everyone knows that's who you're talking about. Anyway, You-Know-Who started to collect followers. They were called Death Eaters. And death is what they brought. They raided the homes of Aurors and wizards with Muggle blood. Looted them and killed everyone there, and almost never was it a quick and painless death. There are three Unforgivable magic curses, one forces people to do what the caster wants. One brings unbelievable pain, and the last kills. The Death Eaters, under You-Know-Whose orders, used all three." Harris and Evalyn nodded solemnly. Pam looked shaken. 

"Then, almost three years ago, on Halloween, You-Know-Who was defeated. He went to kill James and Lily Potter and their son, Harry, who was just over a year old at the time. He managed to take down James and Lily, but his power was broken when he tried to kill Harry. No one really knows how. Harry Potter lived, and You-Know-Who was never seen again. Ministry is still tracking down Death Eaters." 

Tommy's recap of recent events finished, a silence decended on the car. Nobody was sure how to turn the conversation to lighter matters. When it grew oppressive, Harris drew a bag and knut from his pocket. "Heads, and I'll eat a Bertie Bott Every Flavor Bean. Tails, somebody else does. No spitting it out the window. Any challengers?" 

Pam looked uncertain. "What's an Every Flavor Bean?" 

"Like a jelly bean," Tommy explained, "But there is really every flavor, including some pretty nasty ones." 

To illustrate, Harris dumped the bag on the seat between him and Tommy. "These are the 'suspicious' ones from the last batch my brothers bought at Diagon Alley. First challenge, this pale green one. Any takers?" Tommy made a visible effort to screw up his courage, then raised his hand. 

"You're all right with tails, or do you want heads?" 

Tommy shrugged. "Tails is fine." 

"Okay. Tails you eat it, heads I do." Harris flipped the knut, caught it, and flopped it onto the back of the hand holding the 'winner's' bean. Harris lifted his hand. "Heads." The word had a slight quaver to it. Tommy relaxed. Harris rested the coin on his knee, then brought the bean to his mouth. Then he lowered it again. "Now, the rule is that you need to actually chew and taste the thing. And if you spit it out, you need to eat three more." The three watched him sympathetically as he put the bean in his mouth, and began to chew. His fearful expression lightened to one of relief almost immediately. "Melon." 

He passed the knut to Pam, sitting across from him. "Pick a bean, and ask for challengers." 

"Whoever made up this game has got to be in Gryffindor," Tommy commented as Pam looked over the bean selection. "They're insanely brave." 

"Menteron hasn't been sorted yet." At their curious looks, he added, "He's another of my kid brothers. And insane is probably a good word for him." 

The game lasted until the lady with the candy cart came around. With more pleasant things to put in their mouths, interest in the game fizzled. Tommy went into a discussion about his chocolate frog card collection, managing to bore Evalyn and Harris, but Pam listened with interest. 

Quiddich was the next topic of conversation. Tommy and Evalyn broke into a bitter argument over whether the Cannons or the Falcons were the better team while Harris explained to Pam what Quiddich was. "Get out!" Evalyn demanded, raising her voice over both Tommy's argument and Harris's explanation, and pointing at the door. Both Tommy and Evalyn were red-faced and scowling at each other. 

Harris and Pam exchanged looks and shrugged. "The fans get very into it," Harris added, in case it wasn't obvious to her. "C'mon, Tom. We'll be at Hogwarts before long. Let's change into our robes now." 

* * *

"Firs' Years, this way!" a giant of a man called out as students departed from the train. Harris and his three train mates followed the voice, and joined a swelling group of other eleven-year-olds. The giant looked over the small crowd and picked out an anomoly. "Yer not supposed to be here!" he hollered out, pointing into the middle of the group. Children melted away in front of it, revealing a small boy who was most decidedly not eleven yet. 

"Clarence!" Harris exclaimed in surprise. The boy jumped, and turned toward his brother guiltily. 

"Ye know this mite?" the huge man asked. 

"Unfortunately, he's my brother." Harris scowled at the boy. "How did you get here, Firetop?" 

He pointed at the Hogwarts Express. "Sneaked on when nobody was lookin'." 

Hagrid looked to be at a loss for what to do with the stowaway. The prefects had already ushered the older students into the carriages, which had then taken off. "'S name is Clarence?" he finally asked Harris. He nodded. "Clarence, c'mere." He took the boy's tiny hand in his massive one, then called out, "All righ', follow me, firs' years." 

They filed along a steep narrow path down to a lake, Clarence half-running to keep up with the giant man. As they took a turn, the students got their first look at Hogwarts. Whispers of awe rose from the small group. "Wicked," Clarence breathed. "This makes whatever father's going to say worth it." 

A small fleet of small boats waited at the shoreline. "Four ter a boat, get in." Hagrid instructed. "Yer stayin' with me," he added to Clarence. When everyone was settled into a boat (Hagrid and Clarence had one to themselves), they began gliding silently across the lake. 

The crossing seemed to pass slowly, yet the curtain of ivy marking the end of the journey came far too soon. At the end of dark, narrow tunnel, they came to stop in an underground harbor. Each student disembarked from the little boats and followed Hargrid up a passageway and onto a lawn. Before them was a great flight of stone steps leading to an oak door that dwarfed even Hagrid. Students, giant, and boy mounted the stair, and Hagrid's fist resounded three times against the wood. 

It swung open immediately, surprisingly quickly for its size. Just inside, a tall witch with glasses and a stern, lined face awaited them. "Professor McGonagall," Hagrid greeted. "Here be the firs' years." He paused only a moment before pulling Clarence forward. "An' we ha' a stowaway aboar' the train." 

The professor looked down disapprovingly at the boy. He cringed back into Hagrid, somehow sensing that the huge man was somehow the more pleasant of the two creatures. "Who is he?" 

Harris stepped forward. "His name is Clarence Tragyl, ma'am." Her stern gaze shifted to him, and he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have spoken. 

"And you are?" she asked with an arched brow. 

This was decidedly not how he wanted to make his first impression at the new school. He hoped his father would ground Clarence for at least a year. "Harris Tragyl, Professor. His brother, ma'am." 

"It wasn't Harris's fault," Clarence's clear, young voice spoke up. The professor turned back toward him, her lips pursed. Clarence swallowed, but continued, "He was already on the train and out of sight before I even got onto Platform nine and three quarters. The last time either of us saw the other before Mr. Hagrid pointed me out to everyone, Harris was pushing his stuff through the pillar at King's Cross station, and Mum was holding my shirt to make sure I stayed put." 

"And why did you not 'stay put'?" McGonagall asked primly. 

Clarence seemed to glow with delight and excitement. "I wanted to see Hogwarts, and now I did!" 

"How old are you, child?" 

Clarence held up one hand with all its fingers up. "Five. I really couldn't wait the six more years until I'm a first year to see all this." 

McGonagall and Hagrid exchanged a look. Harris leaned toward Tommy and stage whispered, loud enough for McGonagall to hear, "You think he's bad? You should see his twin brother. Mum calls _Clarence_ the good one." Maybe he imagined it, but he thought the teacher shuddered. 

"Hagrid, send an owl to the boy's parents, telling them the situation. I'll take him and the first years from here." Hargid disappeared down a side corridor. McGonagall took Clarence's hand to keep him from wandering off again, and led the students into the castle. 

The entrance hall was easily the largest room Clarence had ever seen. Flaming torches adorned each of the stone walls, and the ceiling was too far away to see. Clarence was not the only one gaping at the immensity. Voices filtered in from a large, brightly lit Hall on the right, but McGonagall led them into a small chamber beside it. 

"Wecome to Hogwarts, students," she began. "Before you take your seats for the banquet, you will be Sorted into your houses. The four houses are Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Your house is your family while you are here. You will live in your house domitory, you will eat at your house table, spend your free time in your house common room, and all of your classes will be with your house mates. Your successes bring your house points, while your rule-breaking will loose your house points. The house with the most points at the end of the year will win the House Cup. The Sorting Ceremony will begin momentarily. I will return when we are ready for you. This will take place before the whole school, so you may wish to straighten yourselves up a bit. Harris, be certain your brother stays here." She released Clarence's hand, spun swiftly enough for her cloak to whip out at the bottom, and strode from the room. 

"Dad'll murder you for this, you know that, right?" Harris asked his brother as soon as McGonagall was gone. "Curse you at the very least." 

Clarence didn't seem to hear him. His eyes shone brightly. "I did it! I'm _in_ Hogwarts! And that was Professor McGonagall! She's famous for transfiguration theory. I read a little about it in -" 

"Clarence!" Harris's sharp voice cut him off. "If you're going to run your trap, tell us what you know about the Sorting Ceremony." 

"Ok, I got this out of Hagrid on the trip across the lake, so it's on pretty good authority." The first years drew even closer together, hanging on to his every word. "Everybody gets called up one at a time, in alphabetical order." Students looked at each other nervously. "You put on a hat, and somehow, that determines which house you go into. Obviously, it's magic of some kind. There was something about singing involved, too." Consternation filled many faces. 

"I'm tone deaf," one girl wailed in horror. "I can't sing a note. And this is in front of the whole school?" 

"No wonder she wanted us to straighten ourselves up," another boy put in, his eyes wide. "She wants us to put on a concert!" 

"I don't know any witch songs," Pam added, nervously, "Do you think the Beatles will be all right?" 

"What have beetles to do with singing?" Evalyn asked, so confused she momentarily forgot to be nervous. 

"The Beatles, not beetles!" someone else cut in, exasperated. "They're a really famous Muggle music group." 

"Well I _certainly_ don't know any Muggle songs!" Evalyn announced, anxiety creeping back into voice. 

"Do we sing by ourselves, all together, or in small groups?" a boy wearing high-top sneakers under his robes asked. 

The students turned as one toward Clarence. He shrugged and shook his head. "Hagrid didn't say." 

"Anyone NOT know Happy Birthday?" High-tops asked. Nobody raised their hands, though some looked mystified about the question. High-tops contined, "Okay, then, if its a full group thing, we'll do that, inappropriate though it might be. If it's small groups, people who know Beatles songs come to me." Five or six students made their way to his side, including Pam. 

"Ok, chaps who know stuff by the Whistling Werewolves, come here!" Tommy called. A much larger group joined him, and immediately began to argue over which song. They quickly divided into two factions, one planned on singing 'When Your Broom's Left in the Rain' and the other group decided on 'Transyvanian Love'. The split line followed gender almost without exception. One girl with short brown hair and calloused fingers decided to do the Broom song. 

"Who's left?" asked the tone-deaf girl. A handful of people shifted uncomfortably and sidled toward her. "We'll do Happy Birthday." 

"Form a line! Let's go!" The students jumped at McGonagall's voice. Careful to stay in their singing groups, they filed out of the room after her. She stopped momentarily in front of the Great Hall's open doors. Beyond her, they could see four very long tables stretching the length of the room. "Clarence, stay by me," she instructed. He squeezed his way through the group and stopped at her side. 

They walked between the two center tables, the line losing its form as they spread to fill the available space. Exclamations of wonder escaped some of them as their stared at the endless sky above them, filled with hovering candles. Others muttered lyrics under their breath trying to remember all the words, and barely noticed their surroundings. As they neared the front, they noticed a ragged hat sitting atop a four-legged stool. In the worry about their concert, they had almost forgotten the rest of Clarence's news. 

"Bet the singing's individual, we do it when our name's called, wearing that awful thing," Tommy whispered to the rest of the 'When Your Broom's Left in the Rain' group. They nodded, dismayed and pale with stage fright. "What song we pick determines our house," he added in a burst of insight. His listeners nodded again at this piece of wisdom, and quickly began trying to find a song to fit the House they most wanted. 

The group of first years came to a stop at the front of the Hall. All was still for several seconds. The students had just begun to wonder if they should start singing Happy Birthday now, or wait for instruction, when the hat moved. A rip just above its brim opened like a mouth, and _it_ began to sing. The group of first years almost laughed in relief. _They_ weren't the ones giving this concert. 

_ Welcome to the Hogwarts Palace.  
Raise up your golden chalise,  
And give your claps and cheers  
For our many future years.  
  
And as we let another start,  
Hope our friends will never part.  
I can see you all are very tense,  
So let the Sorting now commense.  
For I alone may show  
Into which House you may go.  
  
And then we shall see  
If you have the cunning and trickery  
Found in the House of Slytherin.  
Or if you are wise like those in  
the wonderful House of Ravenclaw.  
Or hardworking without flaw  
Like the House of Hufflepuff.  
Or you may have the stuff  
of someone whose bravery can soar  
Like the members of Gryffindor.  
  
So take me now about your head,  
And find out into which House you shall be led. _

The hall burst into applause, the first years keeping up the clapping and catcalls far longer than normal. Unlike other years, this group of new students turned their attention to Professor McGonagall and the hat with very little trepidation. McGonagall raised an eyebrow curiously. The group had come in literally shaking in terror. The hat's song this year had been nice, but she hadn't thought it was _that_ soothing. 

She put the thought aside and unrolled the list of names. "When I call your name, step forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool," she instructed. She looked at the first name. "Adams, Felicity." 

A girl with curly brown hair emerged from the group of new students. Harris recognized her as the girl who claimed to be tone deaf. She put on the hat, letting it fall nearly past her nose, and sat down. "HUFFLEPUFF!" screamed the hat. The table on the far left broke out into loud cheering and applause. She hopped down from the stool, and put the hat back on it. She beamed down at the other first years, and called out gleefully, "Happy Birthday!" The first years laughed, but everyone else in the hall just looked confused. She all but skipped over to the Hufflepuff table. 

"Avery, Weston." 

Weston had barely touched the hat to his head, when it called out, "SLYTHERIN!" He put the hat back on the stool without having sat down. The Slytherin table clapped energetically for its newest member. Weston paused briefly before passing the first years. He shot a nervous look around the Hall, then muttered, "Happy Birthday." The first years cheered him as he hurried off to the Slytherin table. 

"Baxter, Brian," McGonagall called the next name. 

The dark-haird boy who stepped forward now took a seat on the stool, and dropped the hat over his eyes. After a moment, it called out, "GRYFFINDOR!" He grinned down at the first years, and bellowed, "When Your Broom's Left in the Rain!" Then he went to join the wildly cheering, but utterly confused table of Gryffindors. The first years called out for an encore. Brian turned back toward them, just before sitting down, and called out "Happy Birthday!" even louder. The first years cheered as he sat with his new House. 

"Choi, Pamela!" 

The little Asian girl winded her way out of the crowd of first years. She dropped the hat on her head, and with some difficulty, did manage to settle herself onto the stool. The hat considered her for longer than it had anyone so far, then called out boldly, "GRYFFINDOR!" She dropped to the floor, replaced the hat, and came to a stop in front of the first years. By now the rest of the Hall had caught on that there was some kind of running gag going on, so they paused in their applause. "We all live in a Yellow Submarine!" Pamela announced, then went to take the seat next to Brian Baxter as Gryffindor resumed cheering. 

Two more people went to Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw before Tommy Frank was called. He was quickly declared a Gryffindor. He actually sang the chorus to 'When Your Broom's Left in the Rain' before taking a seat across the table from Brian Baxter. Even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws applauded his performance. Granted, they were laughing at him, but they did applaud. 

After calling "Holland, Emily," McGonagall leaned down to whisper in Clarence's ear. "What is going on?" 

Clarence whispered back, "While we waited for you to come back, we reached the mistaken conclusion that they'd need to sing as part of the ceremony. So now they're telling everyone what song they had planned to sing." 

The hat declared Emily a Ravenclaw as McGonagall straightened. Emily announced, "Transylvanian Love," then went to join the Ravenclaw table. 

High-top's name turned out to be Richard Jackson. He was sorted into Gryffindor, and instantly gained himself a new nickname by being the only student to use the song, "I am the Walrus!" The other Beatles singers stuck to their original selection, Yellow Submarine. 

Eventually, McGonagal read, "Tragyl, Harris!" 

Before Harris could make it to the hat, though, Brian Baxter stood up. "You missed someone, Professor! Tragyl, Clarence!" 

McGonagall frowned. The cry was taken up among the other first years. "Sort Clarence! Sort Clarence!" Beside the deputy Headmistress, Clarence's face lit up, at first in surprise, then in delight. He folded his hands together. He looked up at her pleadingly. The upperclass Gryffindors were the first to figure out who Clarence was and what the first years wanted. They took up the chant, too. "Sort Clarence! Sort Clarence!" The five-year-old turned as bright as his hair, but continued to nod eagerly. At each of the other three tables, first years nearest the older students whispered quickly. The chant slowly spread up each of the tables, towards the back. 

Dumbledore stood and held out his hands for silence. It took a moment, but it came. Clarence turned his pleading eyes toward this deciding vote. "Young Mr. Tragyl, if Sorted, will bring his house minus ten points since he has wrongly stowed away aboard the Hogwarts Express." Clarence's expression turned stricken. "But I will put it up to a vote. On the count of three, if in favor of Clarence being Sorted, clap and cheer. One . . . Two . . . Three!" The Hall burst into thunderous applause. Even the Slytherins were loudly cheering, if only because they figured he'd end up in Gryffindor. Despite his ten point penalty, Clarence couldn't help but grin. 

McGonagall and Clarence both approach the stool and hat. "Hold that," she instructed, handing him the hat. The she hoisted the small boy on to the stool. She took the hat back and put it on his head. It fell all the way to his shoulders. The Hall laughed, but Clarence heard only the small voice that spoke more to his thoughts than to his ears. 

"Well, this is different. Young one, aren't you? Let's see. Courage, yes. You'd fit well among Gryffindor. But see here, a sharp mind and a genuine passion for learning, books, and potions, despite your age. Expect that'll only grow. Best be - RAVENCLAW!" 

The Hall was silent for a moment, then the Ravenclaw table broke into cheers. McGonagall lifted the hat from Clarence's head, and helped the beaming boy from the stool. "Go on, sit at Ravenclaw for the rest of dinner," she instructed. 

The boy gave a whoop of joy and joined his table, pausing only long enough to yell "Happy Birthday!" Emily Holland helped him climb into the seat next to her. He leaned forward, looking down the table. "Sorry about the ten points." 

Emily ruffled his red hair, smilling. Clarence made a face at this patronizing treatment, but he was too excited to mind. "Don't worry about it," she assured him. "Having the youngest and cutest house member at Hogwarts is worth ten points." The Ravenclaws close enough to hear her agreed heartily. 

"School's going to be talking about you a long time, kid," an older boy with a prefect badge told him. "Ravenclaw sometimes gets overshadowed by Gryffindor and Slytherin. It's good to have you." Clarence grinned excitedly at him. 

When the hall quieted again, McGonagall picked up where she had left off on her list. "Tragyl, Harris." 

Harris sat, and put on the hat. "Hmm," a small voice spoke into his mind. "More difficult to place. Bravery, some. Smart, but without your brother's drive. Ambitious, yes. Very like your father. One place for that: SLYTHERIN!" The far right table burst into applause, and Harris joined them. He convienently 'forgot' to call out a song title. Nobody seemed to notice. 

Two more kids went into Hufflepuff, then Evalyn Watson took the seat next to Harris in Slytherin. The last student was Charlie Weasley, and the hat barely touched his red hair before sending him into Gryffindor. He sang Happy Birthday on the way to his table. Brian Baxter and Tommy joined in immediately. When they hesitated on who to address the song to, Clarence quickly inserted "Hogwarts" and finished the song with the trio. 

When they finished, Albus Dumbledore stood again. "Welcome to another exciting year at Hogwarts. I have just two words before dinner: Dig in!" He clapped his hands, and the tables were suddenly full of food. 

"So when are you coming to Hogwarts, Clarence?" the prefect asked, taking a slice of roast beef onto his plate. 

"Six years," Clarence answered, though by his tone it could have been forever. 

The older kids looked disappointed. "Only the first years will see you again, then." 

A mischevious look enter his eyes, "I could stow away again," he began hopefully, then shook his head, "but that'd loose you more points." 

"Tell ya what. The Ravenclaws will meet you on Platform 9 and 3/4 next year when you see Harris off again." 

Clarence grinned. "Ok!" The conversation fell into a lull as the Ravenclaws feasted. Clarence, having spent the entire train ride hiding in a luggage compartment, was especially hungry. His eyes darted toward the staff table. Hagrid had returned and was sitting at one end. Dumbledore, one of the most famous wizards in the world, sat in the middle, with McGonagall next to him. Most of the rest, Clarence couldn't recognize, until he reached the far end of the table. His eyes widened and he paled nearly as white as his object of fascination. "That's not Severus _Snape_, is it?" he asked in an awed whisper. 

The prefect followed the boy's line of sight, then looked back. "Yeah. He started three years ago, when I was a first year. Teaches potions, though they say he wants Wallsby's job. Defence against the Dark Arts." 

Clarence's gaze never wavered. "Of course he teaches potions. He's the best. He's really teaching here?" The question seemed almost drowned in disbelief and awe. 

"Yeah," laughed the prefect. "And you wouldn't be nearly so excited if you'd ever taken one of his classes. He's very biased against anyone not in Slytherin. Not quite as bad as their Head of House, Wallsby, but still bad." 

Clarence didn't seem to hear. "I hope he's still here in six years." Desperate hope filled his voice. 

"He should be. Teacher turnover is pretty slow here. He's been here for three years, and he's still the newest teacher. The only one up there that _Snape_ didn't have for a teacher was Trawlaney in Divination. And I wouldn't be surprised if Binns taught History of Magic to Dumbledore himself." 

"I think he did, at that," confirmed an elegantly dressed, but transparent, woman, rising up in the center of the table next to the prefect. "Oh, hello, you must be the new students." 

"This is Ravenclaw's resident ghost, the Grey Lady," the prefect introduced her. Around the hall, other ghosts were popping up through floors and tables, or swooping down from the walls and ceiling. "These are the first years and Clarence, Lady." 

"And Clarence?" she repeated, only then noticing the five-year-old. "Good heavens! You're a bonny wee lad." Clarence blushed. "I haven't such a small one since I died." 

Feeling distinctly like a particularly rare and fascinating bug in a jar, Clarence squirmed under her regard. He was saved from further commentary and study by Dumbledore. The Headmaster stood again, raising his arms for attention and silence. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have a few short of start-of-term announcements. The Forbidden Forest remains forbidden to all students, and there is to be no spellcasting in the hallways. First years, your things have already been brought to your rooms. Your prefect will show you the way to your dormitory and give you its password. Clarence, come to the staff table now." 

The hall began to empty. The nearest Ravenclaws wished Clarence luck, then either departed or gathered around the prefect. Clarence drew a breath, and bravely approached Dumbledore. For the first time, he began to consider just how much trouble this stunt would put him in.   
  
  


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Author's Note: Many thanks to my brother for writing the Sorting Song used here. 


	3. The Repercussions of Running Away

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Two: The Repercussions of Running Away 

Mrs. Tragyl sighed as her oldest son disappeared into the pillar between platforms 9 and 10. The boys were getting so big. Well, some of them. She smiled at Jansten. He'd be a first year next year. It was almost easier to see him at Hogwarts than Harris. Though eleven months younger, he was three inches taller. He acted older, too. Quieter, more reserved. His eyes swept the muggle train station without the wide-eyed wonder even Harris had displayed. "Where did Clarence go?" he asked suddenly. 

She looked down at her side. The boy had been tugging at her skirt just a moment ago, but there was no five-year-old redhead standing in her shadow. Expanding her circle of inspection, she located two six-year old redheads, and well as some others of varying other ages, but Clarence was not among the Weasleys. She approached them anyway. "Molly? Have you seen one of my twins?" Jansten trailed behind her, eyes still scanning the crowd. 

"Oh, hello, Keri. No, the only red-heads I've seen were mine. Your devil ran off on you?" 

Mrs. Tragyl shook her head. "No, I left Menteron home. But Clarence is missing. He was just here a minute ago." 

"I don't see him, Mum," Jansten said. "Want me to check Platform 9 and 3/4?" 

She nodded slowly, worried. "Please do. I'll meet you right here." 

"You two go with him," Molly Weasley added to her two oldest. "Hurry, or you'll miss your train." The three children ran through the pillar, two of them pushing Hogwarts carts. She kept a sharp eye on her remaining brood, clearly not wanting any of them to follow Clarence's example. Mrs. Tragyl's eyes continued to search the crowd, more and more frantically. 

Jansten reappeared several minutes later, shaking his head. "Didn't see him anywhere. Sorry, Mum." 

"Not your fault, dear," she assured him. Then her face darked in worried anger. "Clarence had better hope it isn't _his_ fault either." Only when she considered what events outside of her son's influence could have caused his disappearance did she regret the words. _She_ hoped it was entirely Clarence's fault. A disobedient, wandering child was far preferable to a kidnapped one. 

Jansten looked at one of the open doors of the Muggle tube trains. "You don't think he's on one of them things, do you?" Mrs. Tragyl followed his gaze and shuddered at the thought. "He might have gotten curious about them and gone for a closer look." 

It sounded entirely too much like something Clarence would do. She almost would rather the boy be kidnapped. Pay the ransom, get him back, simple. At least somebody would be seeing to his needs. But if he sneaked onto a Muggle train? He could end up anywhere. It could be days before anyone found him. Where would her baby find food and shelter until then? Clarence might be brilliant, but he was still only five, and completely ignorant of Muggle ways. 

Molly helped look for him until her own twins slipped away. Once she found them again, she left, promising to send Arthur to help once she got back to the Burrow. Mr. Weasley arrived some time later with a detailed schematic of the London tube network and where Clarence might have gotten to. They spend hours apparating between stations, until they finally met back at King's Cross, where they had left Jansten, in case Clarence came back on his own. "Anything?" Mrs. Tragyl asked anxiously. 

Both Arthur and Jansten shook their heads. "A pleaseman keeps asking where my parents are, but I haven't see Clarence." 

"I'll speak to the Department of Misplaced Children," Arthur promised. "Somehow Fred and George ran away to Ireland two summers ago. It only took them a day and a half to find them. Of course, they weren't exactly keeping a low profile. Meantime, you should go home, and hope for word. You won't accomplish anything more here." 

Mrs. Tragyl nodded, not trusting her voice. "Thanks, Arthur," she said quietly. She packed Jansten off toward a taxi. The ride passed mostly in silence. It dropped them off at the end of their driveway, which stretched windingly through a dense forest. The walk took almost as long as the taxi ride. "Menteron!" she called before she had stepped completely through the front door and into the foyer. 

The boy appeared at the top of the stairs looking guilty. "What? It wasn't me, honest!" 

"Clarence didn't say he had any special plans at the train station today, did he?" 

The other twin shook his head in confusion. Whatever accusation he was expecting, that wasn't it. "None that he told me. Why don't you ask him?" He looked down the wide staircase and noticed, of the four Tragyls who had left for King's Cross Station, only two had come back. "Where is Clarence?" 

She had been able to stand it while there was something she could actively do. But when the mirror image of her missing son asked where his twin was, she broke down. She sank down into a fancy sitting room chair that was built more for looks than to actually be used and started to cry. Jansten was immediately at her side, holding her in his arms like she always used to do for him when he cried, and perching precariously on the chair's armrest. Menteron ran down the stairs, making an unholy racket as he did so. 

She forced her sobbing under control, and looked up. Menteron was standing two feet in front of her, looking lost. Brent stared down at the scene from the top of the stairs, and seven-year-old Valr stood in the doorway to the kitchen, stunned to see his mother in tears. "I know you really liked it, but Menteron didn't mean to break the vase, Mum," Brent said. "It was an accident. Kib scared him." 

She shook her head, unable to get upset over a stupid vase. Her baby was gone. "Clarence is missing," she wished she'd managed to sound less dead, giving this news to the boys. The faces of her remaining children looked surprised, then scared. Menteron looked downright terrified. "He - he disappeared at the train station." 

"He said he was joking." Menteron looked pale. 

Keriesa Tragyl speared the twin with a look that had made much older and wiser wizards reconsider her threat value. "What did he say?" 

The boy wrung his hands together, squirming under her unwavering gaze. Not even when he had cut Kib's hair into zigzags had she looked at him so menancingly. "He just said that he was going to see Hogwarts." 

"Hogwarts!" 

Menteron cringed. "But then he laughed and said 'in six years'. So I thought he was joking. He talks about Hogwarts all the time. I thought it was just another ramble." 

"Hogwarts." If he was miserable and lost, she'd find him, kiss him, and hold him tight. If he was kidnapped, she'd tear down heaven and earth to get him back. But if the boy was there, perfectly safe, having the time of his life, she'd kill him. "I need to write a letter to Headmaster Dumbledore." Her voice was cold, and the boys scrambled out of her way as she stalked toward the study. 

"If he's there, Clarence is so dead," Valr whispered. His brothers could only nod. When the silence began to get oppressive, he asked suddenly, "What happened at the station, Jansten?" 

Jansten shook his head, and ran a hand through his blond hair. "Nothing, really. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. He'd been doing it all day, so at first we didn't think much of it, but he always came back fairly soon. The last time, he just didn't come back." 

Silence reigned again in the brightly lit foyer. The speckled red sunlight of sunset streaming through the windows mocked the gloomy atmosphere of the brothers. Mrs. Tragyl returned, shoving a folded piece of parchment into an envelope. "Get Odyssius, somebody." Brent took the stairs two at a time, and returned shortly with a large Eagle Owl. She attached the note to the bird's leg, and let him out the front door. "To Hogwarts, Dumbledore," she instructed. 

Before she closed the door, Mr. Tragyl Apperated right in front of her. They both jumped. He studied her for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong? Did Harris miss his train?" 

Mrs. Tragyl shook her head. "No, as far as I know, Harris is fine and enjoying the ride to Hogwarts." She checked the position of the sun. "Should be just about to Hogsmeade by now." She closed the door as her husband stepped into the house. "The problem is Clarence." 

His eyes swept the crowd of boys, and lingered a moment on Menteron. "Where is the Firetop?" he asked levelly, looking back toward his wife. 

"Menteron thinks he may have stowed away aboard the Hogwarts Express. Jansten and I spent the entire afternoon looking for him all over England, with Arthur Weasley's help." 

"I never left King's Cross Station, in case Clarence showed up there again," Jansten clarified, letting his brothers know that his day was not nearly as exciting as their mother made it out to sound. 

"Arthur said he would inform the Department of Misplaced Children for us, and I just sent an owl to Headmaster Dumbledore, though he likely won't get it until after the welcoming feast. I've been so sick with worry all day." 

Mr. Tragyl turned narrowed eyes on Menteron. "You know he's at Hogwarts?" 

Menteron shook his head so violently his short hair splayed out around his head. "No! He was just talking about Hogwarts before he left. It's really not surprising. That's where Harris was going. He just said he couldn't wait to see it. He didn't say 'hey, Menteron, I'm running off to Hogwarts today, so when Mum and Dad flip their lids, tell 'em I said I'm ok.' He just said 'I'm going to see Hogwarts . . . in six years.'" 

"He's been quoting _Hogwarts, A History_ for the past month," Valr added. "If he was going to run off to any place, it would be there." 

"Current situation excepted," Jansten began, "Clarence is pretty smart. He wouldn't just get on a Muggle train alone without knowing where it would take him, or having some plan for food and shelter in the near future. But he knew where the Hogwarts Express was going, and he knew they'd feed him and send him home when they found him." He nodded as though this decided the matter. "My only questions though are, when did he go through the pillar and how did he get on the train without getting caught?" 

* * *

McGonagall watched the small boy all through dinner. He appeared to be genuinely enjoying himself and the company of the other Ravenclaws. "Was it wise to Sort him so young?" she asked Albus as dessert appeared on the tables. 

The old wizard looked at her with an amused twinkle. "Had we not, we may have had a riot," he told her in that serious tone that meant he was having fun with her. She pursed her lips. He raised a hand placatingly. "In all honesty, I know not. He still has six more formative years before he would normally have come to the Sorting Ceremony. Though, I suspect, he will more likely mellow and become more like a Ravenclaw, than become wilder and more like the Gryffindor most people expected him to become tonight. I expect the Hat took that into consideration." 

"And if he doesn't even come to Hogwarts?" 

"Posh," Albus made a dismissive gesture that suggested the possibilty was not worth consideration. "Any Tragyl born to Keriesa and Waltr will attend Hogwarts. Keriesa would never let them go to Durmstrang. And Waltr thinks Beaubaxtons is for fanciful rich kids, not for real wizards." His voice had altered minutely, letting her know that he was quoting, or at least paraphrasing, Waltr Tragyl. 

That had not been what she meant. "There have been Squibs in the Tragyl family before this." 

Albus chuckled. "Clarence is not among their number. He has already manifested his first two acts of accidental magic. In the first, he set a couch on fire in a moment of anger. In the second, he was scared enough of getting caught, that he made himself Unnoticable while he stowed away on the Hogwarts Express. Had he not been surround by so many untrained first-years to confuse the issue, the Ministry would surely have come down on an accidental use of such a long duration." 

McGonagall sat back in her chair and regarded her slice of apple pie. She picked at it thoughtfully. "And in six years? He won't be Sorted again, surely?" 

Albus shook his head, his beard only barely missing a dropped blob of whipped cream. "Certainly not. He is now a Ravenclaw. When the time comes we will decide whether he should take the First Year Journey again or not. But for now . . . " He rose to make his start-of term announcements. McGonagall primly pressed a napkin to her lips. Her pie was less than half finished, but she was no longer hungry. 

As the students began to push, shove, and file out of the Great Hall, Clarence approached the staff table nervously. Albus looked down at him with a severe expression, though his eyes were still kindly. Clarence flushed and looked at the floor. "Mr. Tragyl, what you have done was wrong." 

Clarence nodded, not raising his eyes. "I know," he said miserably. 

"Any number of things could have happened to you, but I will leave it up to you parents for the lecturing. I am not yet your teacher." The boy snuck a quick look up at these last words, his eyes shining, not with tears of regret or shame, but with excited pride. McGonagall feared the boy was not in the least sorry for his actions. He may know he had been 'bad', but nothing would make him believe it was a 'mistake'. 

McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Clarence went up to Dumbledore's office once the students had cleared out of the Hall. The walk passed silently. Clarence spent most of it eagerly taking at everything they passed. She almost wished he was truly starting at Hogwarts this year. He would clearly be an avid student. With luck, that curiosity and drive to learn would not diminish in the next six years. 

"Tootsie Pop," Dumbledore told a suit of armor, which then moved out of the way. 

Clarence watched this interplay with wide-eyed fascination. "Wicked," he breathed. Albus smiled brightly at him. 

They went up the stairs, into the Headmaster's office. An owl waited impatiently on his chair. Albus greeted the bird pleasantly, gave it an owl treat, and detached the letter. Clarence eyed the owl nervously. "What do Mum and Dad say?" 

Albus cleared his throat and began to read aloud. "Headmaster, our son Clarence disappeared this afternoon at Kings Cross Station just before the Hogwarts Express left. One of my other sons, Menteron, suggests he may have wished to see Hogwarts. Please keep an eye out for a small five-year-old with red hair. If you see him, kindly let me know, then turn him over to Pringle for detention. If Clarence isn't there, let me know that, too. Yours, Keriesa Tragyl." 

McGonagall raised a brow. "If your mother wants you sent to Pringle, you are in serious trouble, young man." 

Clarence cringed, though it seemed more a play for sympathy than real worry or regret. The boy had some Slytherin traits, too, it appeared. "Who's Mr. Pringle?" 

Albus answered, "He was our caretaker before he retired." 

"He enjoyed chaining disobedient children to ceilings and letting them scream," McGonagall added in a disapproving voice. Clarence looked taken aback at this method of punishment. Not yet scared, but certainly less complacent. 

Albus tapped the note thoughtfully. "I expect Hagrid's owl passed this one in flight. Still, I should reply." He pulled out a blank parchment and a quill. He dipped the feather into an inkpot, his eyes going vague as he considered what to write. Dashing down a few lines, he handed the paper to Clarence. "How does that sound?" 

Clarence read aloud for McGonagall's benefit. "Mr. and Mrs. Tragyl, I hope you recieved our first notice telling you Clarence is safe and accounted for. Mr. Pringle is no longer a part of the staff, so I was unable to fulfill your request. If you cannot make it to Hogwarts tonight to pick him up, he will spend the night with the first year Ravenclaws." The boy looked up, his face the very definition of surprised delight. "Oh, I hope she can't make it tonight!" He looked back down and picked up where he left off. "Aside from him being here in the first place, the boy has been no trouble and endeared," Clarence blushed, "himself to many of the students and staff. Yours, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster." 

"Would you like to add a postscript, so she knows you are fine?" 

Clarence nodded, accepting the quill, and wrote, _PS. Harris in Slytherin, like Father. I'm Ravenclaw. Tell Valr he owes me a Chocolate Frog. I lost my House ten points for stowing away. Mum, it wasn't Menteron's fault. - Clarence_ He looked at what he'd written, shook his head, and scribbled out the last line until it was completely illegible. No sense in casting doubt on Menteron's innocence, on the off chance he _hadn't_ admitted this was his idea. 

_"Are you going, Menteron?" Clarence had asked. _

His brother shook his head. "Nothing to see, Mum said we won't even go on Platform 9 and 3/4." 

"Still, it's a Muggle train station." 

Menteron shook his head. "It'll be boring. Unless you plan to sneak aboard and see Hogwarts yourself?" 

"Sounds good to me!" 

Menteron looked up sharply. "You wouldn't." 

Clarence had shaken his head, gesturing placatingly. "Joking, Menteron. Joking." But the idea had been born that moment and he knew he was probably lying. 

Clarence handed the letter to Dumbledore. He scanned the two lines, then handed it to McGonagall. She also read what Clarence had written, folded the page, and attached it to Odyssius' leg. The owl flew out the open window. Three sharp raps came from the office door. Albus invited the knocker in, and the door opened. "Professor Vector," he greeted her with a smile. 

"The Ravenclaws are all set for the night. I was wondering about our youngest House member, though." 

"Clarence, this is Professor Vector, the Head of Ravenclaw House," Albus introduced her. 

Clarence gave a bow like he'd seen his father give once. "Ma'am." 

She smiled, her eyes alight. "Isn't he the little charmer." 

Albus laughed with her and even McGonagall's stern expression twitched momentarily toward a smile. "Put him in the Ravenclaw first year domitory for the night. I'll send someone to fetch him when his parents come." 

Vector nodded. "Come along, dear." Clarence slipped his hand into hers, and followed her back down the narrow stairway leading to Dumbledore's office. 

McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged a look when the door had closed. "Are you certain that boy is only five? I have third years with far worse grammar, spelling, and handwriting, nevermind manners. How did you know he could read already?" 

Albus smiled in amusement, "He was Sorted into Ravenclaw. It was an educated guess. Did you want to have him start this year, then, Minerva?" 

She shook her head quickly. "That would be rewarding his wrong-doing." 

* * *

"An owl, Mum!" Brent called out, from his post at a north-facing window. 

"Odyssius?" she asked, coming into the dining room at a run. Mr. Tragyl, and several boys trickled in behind her. 

Brent pushed open the window to let the owl in. "No, this one's white." In a moment, the snowy owl alighted on Brent's arm, making the announcement redundant. 

Mrs. Tragyl unwound the missive, and read aloud, "Tragyls, Clarence has arrived at Hogwarts. He is well. Headmaster will contact you after the Welcoming Feast. -Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds" She looked at the owl. "Thank you, no reply." Brent gave the bird a treat and some water. When it finished, it flew out the window. "I suppose I'll tell Arthur to call off the search." She left the room at a brisk walk that the boys knew to stay out of the way of. 

Mr. Tragyl scowled at nothing. "Jansten!" he snapped suddenly. 

The current oldest boy of the house approached his father cautiously. "Sir?" 

"I want you to pack overnight bags for yourself and all of your younger brothers save Clarence. Be ready to leave and in the foyer in two hours." 

"Yes, sir!" He and his brothers all but fled the room. 

"I'm glad I'm not Clarence," Valr declared as they scrambled up the stairs. The others could only agree. "What do you think mum and dad'll do to him?" 

"If they're sending us away, I don't think we want to know," Jansten confided. The group of boys crowded into the first bedroom on the right, second floor. Jansten quickly packed what he'd need in the next few hours, then tossed the bag to Menteron. The smaller boy staggered under its sudden weight, but stayed upright. "Bring that downstairs. Valr, your room next." All the boys but Menteron crossed the hall and entered another bedroom. 

Menteron dropped the bag and dragged to toward the stairs. When he reached the top, he just pushed it over and let it roll down into the foyer. As he watched it fall, his father left the dining room and joined their mother in the parlor, where the fireplace was. Curious, and using the piece of luggage as an excuse to eavesdrop, he sat on the top carpetted stair, and slid down as though sledding. He crashed into Jansten's bag at the bottom, but quickly reclaimed his feet. He dragged the bag toward the parlor. 

Mum and Father were speaking to Arthur Weasly still. "I can take a few, but the Burrow is already crowded, what with some of Molly's family still here for Charlie's off-to-Hogwarts party." The head turned away for a moment, then spoke again. "Fred and George request the twins." 

"Menteron will be one of them, then," Mum said. "Would you also take Brent and Kiblan? They're eight and three." 

"Not a problem," Mr. Weasley assured her. "Percy's eight, too, and Ginny's also three." 

In a moment, Mr. Weasley's head was gone. Father threw down another pinch of floo powder and called out, "Dragus Avery!" 

Another head appeared where Mr. Weasley's had been. This one was brown haired, with a neatly trimmed mustache. "Tragyl," the new man said carefully. 

"Avery," Mr. Tragyl returned in the same tone. "I beg a favor of you." Mr. Avery raised an eyebrow, showing little interest. Menteron was glad he was going to the Weasleys rather than the Averys. He didn't like this guy. Mr. Tragyl continued, "I need to send two of my boys somewhere for the night. I was hoping you would take them." 

Mr. Avery pressed his lips together, as though weighing the cost of watching two boys with the possible benefit of being owed a favor. "Their ages?" 

"Jansten's ten and Valr is seven." 

Mr. Avery nodded slowly. "Very well. When should I expect them?" 

"Two hours." Mr. Avery nodded acknowledgement. Then the fire was just a fire again. 

"Why Avery?" Mum asked when he was gone. "You know I don't trust the Averys." 

Father sighed. "His wife is my first cousin, and Dragus was a childhood friend, Keri. And _you_ know _I_ don't like the Weasleys." 

Mum glared angrily. "Arthur and Molly are harmless, which is more than can be said about most of _your_ 'childhood friends'." 

"Would you rather I sent them to Lucious Malfoy, then?" 

Menteron backed away, not wanting to get discovered listening in on another of their arguments. His foot caught in the strap of Jansten's bag, and he tripped, falling into a table and knocking it over. In hindsight, he should have stayed still and just suffered through the fight. Both parents came out of the parlor and found him sprawled on the ground. "I, I was just bringing down Jansten's bag. I didn't mean to listen -" he stopped when Father scowled and raised a finger for silence. 

"You were throwing that bag down the stairs when I came into the parlor." 

Menteron thought fast. "Jansten got mad and wanted me to make sure I didn't break anything." He took stock of their expressions. Mum might have believed him, but Father wasn't buying it for a minute. Time to change tactics. He looked back toward the stairs. He was in luck. Valr had frozen half way down, carrying a bag of his own. "Valr! Didn't Jansten tell me to make sure I didn't break nothing?" 

Valr waffled less than a moment between truth and backing up his brother. "Yeah. Said you could have busted open the toothpaste and gotten it all over his stuff." He dragged his bag down a few more steps. "So did ya? I got six Every Flavor Beans riding on it with Brent." 

Menteron shook his head, "Nope, everything is toothpaste free." He frowned, considering what might happen if Father looked, and there _was_ toothpaste all over the place. "Well, it was before I tripped over the bag," he added, just in case. 

"Check again. Brent's got one that looks like it might be mud flavored." Menteron stole another look at his parents. Mum was definitely convinced. Father appeared less certain. Somehow neither adult had ever twigged to the fact that Valr was an excellent liar. 

They opened the bag, and Menteron pulled out an intact tube of toothpaste. "Bugger," Valr complained. "He's gonna get my probable vomit one." They put the toothpaste back, zipped the bag and stood. "C'mon. Jansten'll probably be nearly to your room by now, and you know he tell what's your stuff and what's Clarence's." Their parents stood back and let the boys escape. Safe. "You _so_ owe me ten Every Flavor Beans for that," Valr told him as soon as they were out of earshot. 

"You'll get them," Menteron promised ferverently. 

"What did you hear?" 

"Me, Kib, and Brent are getting sent to the Weasleys, which Father doesn't like. You and Jansten are going to the Averys, which Mum really doesn't like. I still don't know what they're gonna do about Clarence, and I guess Lulli's taking care of Tryna." 

Less than two hours later, the five boys had gathered, with packed overnight bags, in the foyer. Mrs. Tragyl joined them with Odyssius a short while later. She unwrapped the note attached, and read it to herself, her brows raising in surprise. She gave the bird to Brent. Without being told, he brought the owl up to its perch on the third floor. Mr. Tragyl read the note next, and looked at four boys. "Jansten, and Valr, you first. You're going to Mr. Avery's house until tomorrow." 

"What did the note say?" Valr asked, knowing that, in his father's current mood, he risked punishment by calling attention to himself. 

"Harris is a Slytherin." 

"Blast!" Valr exclaimed, almost involuntarily. "I owe Clarence a Chocolate Frog. I said he'd be Gryffindor." He shook himself out of the distraction. "But I meant, what does it say about Clarence?" He hoped he wasn't sticking his neck in a noose. 

"He is still safe and accounted for. We are fetching him tonight," Mrs. Tragyl told him testily, "Just as soon as you five get to where you're spending the night." Brent came running down the stairs, the owl having been securely returned to its home, as his parents and brothers trooped into the parlor. "You're going to Avery House. Be polite, but don't listen too much to Mr. Avery's philosophy." 

Mr. Tragyl shook his head and rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Go," he instructed with an impatient wave. The two boys each threw down a pinch of floo powder, and disappeared. 

"You three are off to The Burrow. Let's go. Kib, you hold on tight to Brent's hands, and don't say anything until you get there, y'hear?" The little boy nodded solemnly. Still unable to properly pronounce the letter 'r', sending him on his first solo floo travel to a location identified as 'the Burrow' seemed . . . unwise. Mrs. Tragyl had already had one missing child scare today. 

Brent and Kib took the first turn, then Menteron followed a moment later. Mr. and Mrs. Tragyl were left alone in their parlor. Then Lulli and Tryna entered. Lulli carried bag nearly as large as she was filled with various accessories neccessary for the overnight care of a two-year old. Tryna waddled behind her, gripping the house elf's pillowcase for balance, and laughing. 

For the first time since he arrived home that evening, Mr. Tragyl broke into a smile. "Hey, princess." 

"Daddeee!" she squealed and ran into his waiting arms. He swung her up and around. "How's my favorite daughter?" She giggled, though Mrs. Tragyl was sure that was caused by the tickle her father gave her, rather than because the child saw the irony of the designation. As their only daughter, Tryna was allowed to be called his favorite. Mr. Tragyl looked to his wife. "I'll meet you outside the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade." She barely had time to nod before he took Tryna's bag from Lulli and Disapperated. 

"You can take the night off, Lulli. We probably won't be back until late. Breakfast will only be for myself, Waltr, and Clarence, the rest should be back in time for lunch." 

The house elf nodded vigorously. "Lulli understands, Mistress." Then she, too, Disapperated, leaving the parlor empty except for the elf. Fifteen minutes after that, the kitchen had been tidied, and the house was deserted. 

* * *

She was already waiting when Mr. Tragyl Apparated into Hogsmeade. "My mother said she'd watch Tryna as long as neccessary," he said in response to her expectant expression. "They both appeared happy to see the other. Tryna didn't cry at all." She nodded, thankfully refraining from making any disparaging comments about his mother. He didn't think he would have been able to let it slide in his current mood. They wordlessly began the trek up to Hogwarts. 

Halfway there, Keri broke the silence. "What should we do about this?" 

Waltr scowled. "He was seriously in error. If I had done something like this, my father would have -" he stopped suddenly. "Nevermind what my father would have done." 

Keri winced and smiled symphathetically at him, as though she thought she knew what he meant. She really knew very little about his father beyond the fact that he was now in Azkaban with other followers of Voldemort. The old fool had been far too free, and loud, about his high opinion of the Dark Lord, particularly when drunk. And that had been altogether too often after Voldemort's fall. Add that to being a frequent denizen of Knockturn Alley, and the judges and juries really didn't need any more 'proof'. The irony of the whole thing was that Mr. Tragyl the elder _hadn't_ been a Death Eater. 

"Take away his potion set and books for at least a month," Keri suggested into the awkward silence. 

Waltr pursed his lips. "It seems wrong to deny the boy knowledge, even if it is the thing he would most miss." 

Keri looked at him in surprise. "I didn't realize there was Ravenclaw blood in you." 

He smirked. "Knowledge is power," he explained, with a hint of smug superiority to his words. "I assure you, I am one hundred percent Slytherin, my choice of wife notwithstanding." This remark earned him a rather hard punch in the arm. He couldn't say he was surprised, though he did give her a look of mock pain. He rubbed his bicep, playing up the injury so she wouldn't realize that it really had hurt. If she knew, she'd either gloat or apologize, neither of which did he want from her right now. "I was seriously considering a few days in a leg-lock curse. Poetic justice for wandering off." 

Keri looked appalled. Typical Gryffindor reaction. 

"Seriously, Keri. It's not like I'm suggesting the Crustatious or anything." If anything, she looked even more horrified. He sighed and tried to argue his case. "Leg-lock is harmless, it'll get across the point that we are not happy with him, that what he did was serious, and, best of all, it's cleverly appropriate. What could possibly be a more fitting punishment for running away? And he can still read his precious potions books to pass the time." 

"You are one hundred _and ten_ percent Slytherin," Keri said in disgust. "I am not going to put a curse on my son." 

Waltr shrugged. "You won't have to. I will. Really, Ker, you're blowing this entirely out of proportion." 

She scowled at him. "Would you suggest this if the perpetrator was your darling Tryna?" 

Waltr seriously considered the question. He knew he was guilty of playing favorites among the children, and the twins almost never came out ahead. He answered slowly, "I honestly believe Clarence would rather be leg-locked than have his potion books taken away. I think I'm being more lenient on your favorite son than you are." Turnabout was fair play. That accusation about Tryna was hypocritical, even if it was correct. Keri seemed startled by his response. That surprised _him_, because he felt he was right about this. Both on account of what the boy preferred and which of the children she favored. "What?" 

"Do you realize that is the first time in two years you have called him by his proper name?" 

He opened his mouth to refute this ridiculous claim, then closed it again. His eventual rebuttal was a very weak, "Really?" 

"Really." They walked most of the rest of the way in silence. It wasn't until they were almost to the front gate that she spoke again. "You're right." This affirmation of his correctness confused him, since he had spent the interim trying to come up with a single instance over the last two years that he had spoke of or to Clarence and not called him 'Firetop'. As far as he was concerned, he should be saying that _she_ was right. But, of course, his Slytherin pride rebelled at that. She paused for so long, he thought that was all she was going to say. He feared he might need to fight down his ego and ask _what_ he had been right about, but then she added, each word like a pulled tooth, "He would prefer the leg lock." 

Right. That. He _tried_ to surpress his gloating smirk, he really did. 

* * *

Some of the first year Ravenclaws had come back down to the common room once they checked out their dormitory and seen that all of their belongings were accounted for. They weren't entirely sure they were allowed to be there, so they spoke in whispers, comparing observations about their first day. 

The portait door opened, and the four young students looked up with expressions ranging from guilty to curious. Professor Vector entered with Clarence Tragyl. She looked upon them disapprovingly, but merely stated, "You have orientation activities first thing tomorrow. Don't stay up too late." She then released Clarence's hand and nodded toward them. "They'll show you the dormitory when they turn in." The look she turned on the two boys clearly informed them that serious repercussions would occur if they failed in this mission. 

One of them stood and stuck out a hand. "Sure, not a problem. I'm Justin Eckerly." 

Clarence grinned and shook. "Clarence Tragyl," he said as though they didn't all already know that. 

Professor Vector wished them all good night, and left. Justin finished introductions. "That's Derek Rock, Emily Holland, and Gertrude Ivanski." 

A girl with blond hair and very pale skin flushed to almost normal coloring. "Please, Gertie. Gertrude is so . . . stuffy." 

"How'd the meeting with the Headmaster go?" Emily asked. 

Clarence shrugged. "Okay, I guess. They didn't hang me up by my toes, though apparently my parents think I should be." 

Thinking it was a joke, Derek and Gertie laughed, and the other two smiled sympathetically. "When are you going home?" Justin picked up the questioning. 

The boy shrugged. "When my parents come to fetch me." He seemed to shrink into himself. "They are not going to be happy with me at all. Harris says Father will probably curse me." The way he said it, they knew he didn't mean bad language. 

Emily shook her head in horrified denial. "Surely not." 

Derek looked at her patronizingly. "It happens." He turned to Clarence, "Is your dad a Slytherin?" 

Clarence was starting to look more scared. "Yes," he said in very small voice. Emily's eyes widened, as though having a Slytherin for a father had never occured to her. 

"Uh-oh," Gertie said, "And you're in Ravenclaw? He won't be pleased about that either." 

"Better Ravenclaw than Hufflepuff or Gryffindor," Derek disagreed. "Slytherins almost like us. If a Slytherin marries outside of her house, it'll be a Ravenclaw ninety-nine times out of a hundred. As far as they're concerned, Hufflepuffs are just useless and Gryffindors are, like, the enemy." 

"Mum's a Gryffindor." 

The four first years stared at him. Clarence shifted uncomfortably beneath the disbelieving gazes. "A Slytherin married a Gryffindor?" Derek finally asked increduliously. 

"A Gryffindor married a Slytherin?" Emily asked in the same tone, obviously finding the other direction more difficult to comprehend. Clarence had the impression she really could imagine anyone, possibly not even another Slytherin, wanting to marry a Slytherin. 

"They're not all awful," Clarence said in defence of his father and brother. But he had read enough and was aware enough of recent events, that he knew that many were. He definitely didn't care for most of the Tragyl side of his family, though he wasn't sure if that was because they were really unpleasant people or if it was just because they teased him about his hair and shot his mother Looks. 

Emily made a face that suggested he'd need to prove it before she'd believe him. 

"Harris is nice, most of the time," he offered as evidence. "I'm going to bet Valr another Chocolate Frog that Jansten will be Slytherin, too. He'll be a first year, next year. And he's very polite, and wants to be an Auror. That's not exactly the goal of a Dark Wizard." 

"Sounds like a Gryffindor to me," Gertie argued. 

Clarence's eyes lit up. "Bet you a Chocolate Frog you're wrong." 

"If his profession of choice is to be a brave and heroic Auror, he's definitely a Gryffindor. You're on." 

"That is his _ambition_," Clarence confirmed, with a smug emphasis on the last word. They shook on it. 

Justin shook his head, and stage whispered to Emily, "Gertie just lost herself a frog." 

Gertie looked at him with raised brows, "What makes you so sure?" 

"Clarence has got to know his brother better than you." 

Clarence shrugged. "For the record, most of my other brothers disagree with me. Even Jansten doesn't know or particularly care which house gets him. Harris _wanted_ Slytherin." 

Emily wrinkled her nose. "That, I don't understand. I mean, it's not as incomprehensible as your parents' marriage, Clarence, no offense, but why would anybody want to label themselves as a Slytherin?" 

Clarence spread his hands. "You'd have to ask Harris. I think he wanted to be like Father. Me, I always wanted Ravenclaw or Gryffindor." 

Derek raised a brow. "Disappointed you didn't get Gryffindor?" 

Clarence scrunched up his face and shook his head. "Nah. Ravenclaw was my first choice. The only thing Gryffindor had going for it was that it's where my twin's going." 

"How d'you know that? It's still six years until his Sorting." 

"Unless he completely changes, he can't go anywhere else. No interest in books," he said this like it was major character failing, "No ambition, and work is an anathema for him. He's reckless and fearless, if not brave. Gryffindor's the only one that would even think about taking him." Clarence gave no indication of doubt on the subject. 

A brief silence fell over the five young people. Emily broke it, sounding a little worried. "Your dad won't do anything too awful, will he?" 

Clarence shrugged, almost indifferently. "He'll be mad, that's for sure. But so will Mum, for that matter. I'm in for something unpleasant. That's what happens when you're bad, regardless of whether your parents are Slytherin or Hufflepuff or Muggle. Can we please talk about something else?" 

"Fair enough," piped up Gertie. "Clarence told us his second choice of House, what about you guys. Was Ravenclaw what you all wanted?" 

Derek shrugged. "Dad's Ravenclaw. Mum was from Durmstrang, before she went to Azkaban," he fake-smiled in embarassment. "Dad prayed I'd follow him into Ravenclaw." 

There was an uncomfortable silence before Emily picked up Gertie's question. "Gryffindor, for both Mum and Dad. The Hat wanted to put me in there, too, but I wanted Ravenclaw, and I'm a quick enough study that it complied." 

"Both parents were Ravenclaws," Justin explained shortly. "The expectation was that I'd be, too. Your turn, Gert." 

She grinned, a little too cheerfully after Derek's revelation. "My parents are Hufflepuff and muggle. There was no pressure one way or another, though I expect Ma hoped I'd be in her old House. I just wanted to go where I fit best. Hat decided on Ravenclaw." 

Emily check her watch. "It's getting late, and as Professor Vector said, we do have orientation tomorrow." 

This was met by a round of head nodding. The two girls went up one stairwell on the right side of the common room, and the boys went up its opposite on the left side. "First year dorm is at the top," Justin said as they passed the doorway on the first landing, which was labeled _7th Year Boys_. "By the end of the year, we'll all be in tip top shape, that's for sure. Hopefully we rotate down, rather than keeping the same one the whole seven years. I'll have to ask Dad." 

When they passed the _5th Year Boys_ door, Derek asked cautiously, "So your Dad's not in with You-Know-Who, then, Clarence?" 

Clarence stopped moving suddenly enough that Justin almost tripped over him. When the boy spoke, he sounded shocked by the very idea. "No!" 

They started walking again. After a short, heavy silence, Derek spoke again, "Then he probably won't curse you. Plus your Mum probably won't let him, even if he wanted to. She's Gryffindor." The last sentance came out in an odd mix of disbelief, wonder, and bemusement. 

Clarence gave him a strange look. _He_ couldn't imagine his parents not being married, even if they were from enemy houses, and all this fuss about it threatened to upset his view of the world. Keriesa and Waltr Tragyl are _supposed_ to be married. That was a fundemental of the universe, like gravity and magic. Why did it strike everybody as so impossible? Nobody had so much as blinked about a Ravenclaw marrying someone from Durmstrang. Of course, he had to admit, everyone had been too busy gaping about Derek's mom being in Azkaban to have paid much attention to the first part, but still. 

Gertie was Hufflepuff-Muggle, and nobody thought that odd. Slytherin-Muggle would have been a different story, he supposed, but he doubted whether it would have garnered much more reaction than his parents' Slytherin-Gryffindor. He didn't dare confront the Ravenclaws' surprise, fearing that somehow doing so could lead to his parents breaking up. They already argued a lot. Did that mean the marriage was fragile and could fly apart any day now? The thought terrified him. All the times he and his brothers had tried to play one against the other suddenly filled him with guilt. For petty reasons he couldn't even remember, they had intentionally made an already impossible marriage harder. 

They finally reached the top floor. Derek and Justin each took a bed without hesitation. A quick look found an unoccupied one. Clarence climbed into it, still wearing the muggle clothes his mother had insisted he wear to the train station. Not wanting to wake the boys already sleeping, good-nights were passed around quickly and in whispers. 

Clarence stared at the ceiling and shook off his dread and uncertainty. No. His parents were happy. Er, most of the time, anyway. But that's the way it had always been. You can't expect a Slytherin-Gryffindor marriage to be blissful _all_ the time. Even he knew that. It _had_ lasted almost thirteen years now. That was something. 

If the marriage was bad it would spill into family life. But, overall, the family wasn't dysfunctional. Fights were expected in a household with seven brothers, and no genuine feuds or hatreds had developed. Nobody was showing signs of being a dark wizard wannabe. No one was perpetually depressed or angry. Sure, Valr was a skilled liar and Menteron a habitual prankster. Yes, Jansten was almost frightening in his intensity to become the best Auror in history, but what family didn't have its weirdos? 

That Grandpa Tragyl had got himself convicted of being a Death Eater was their closest claim to notoriety. And that couldn't possibly be connected to his parents marriage. Besides, Father said he wasn't even guilty. 

So, Clarence concluded, his parents marriage was still a firm corner stone to the world. If his logic was a little shaky, it could be blamed it on the late hour, an exhausting day, and the fact that he wanted to believe it with every fiber of his being. He soon fell into a sound sleep, having never considered what would happen to his family when his brothers were Sorted into enemy houses and battle lines drawn. 

* * *

"Keri and Waltr!" Dumbledore greeted his two visitors warmly as they entered his office. "Clarence fell asleep not long ago. Amazing child, that one." Keri smiled proudly in spite of herself. No matter how determined she was to be mad at him, Dubledore (Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin 1st class) telling her that her son was amazing simply could not be shrugged off as unimportant. "Unless you are in a tearing hurry to leave, you are more than welcome to a room in the guest wing." 

A short discussion later, mostly in non-verbal, husband and wife nodded. "Thank you, Headmaster," Keri agreed. "But we must leave early. I need to go in to work, and we told Lulli, our House Elf, to expect us for breakfast." 

Dumbledore nodded his understanding, then brought up the subject that had brought them there. "I advise you both to oversee Clarence carefully over the next six years until he attends Hogwarts. The child mantained a strong magical illusion to avoid discovery throughout the entire time he was on the train. I don't believe he realizes he did any such thing which, perhaps, makes it an even more extraordinary achievement." 

The Tragyls exchanged looks of surprise. "I thought the conflaguration he made of my grandmother's couch was astonishing," Waltr commented, nearly achieving the unimpressed tone he was attempting. 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I do not doubt that it was." The twinkle faded as he turned more serious, "Clarence's accidental magic is unusually powerful. Do try to keep him out of situations where he may become especially frightened or angry." 

Keri nodded. "He is generally an even-tempered boy, but I will tell him to be careful." 

Shortly thereafter, the two were escorted by Dumbledore himself into the guest wing. Before leaving them, he said, "I will have Professor Vector, Ravenclaw's Head of House, bring Clarence to you early tomorrow morning." 

True to his word, the next morning Clarence arrived in the company of a middle aged woman at six-thirty. The boy looked like his had sleep-walked his way from Ravenclaw Tower to his parents guest room, but was otherwise fine. By seven, they had walked beyond Hogwart's Apperation barrier, and returned to the Tragyl residence. 

More awake now, he looked at his parents frowning visages from the familiar setting of his home's parlor. "Your father and I have discussed your punishment and came up with two possibilities. I reluctantly have agreed with your father's suggestion. However, if you have an objection to it we will go with the other." 

Feeling decidedly apprehensive, he asked. "What did Father suggest?" 

Mr. Tragyl looked at his son gravely. "You will be placed under the leg-lock curse for two days. Lulli will bring your meals to your room so you need not navigate the stairs. You may go about whatever activities you wish, though, obviously, your movements will be somewhat . . . restricted." 

Clarence looked between them, face pale. "And Mum's suggestion?" 

"One month suspension from your potion set and books." 

Clarence looked at his mother in betrayal. "That's worse!" 

He thought he saw his father send her an I-told-you-so look, but that might have been his imagination. "I take it you choose the first option," Mr. Tragyl asked dryly. Clarence swallowed hard and nodded. "All right. Upstairs, first. I'm not carrying you." His father followed him to his room. His mother stayed downstairs, unwilling to witness this. Mr. Tragyl looked at him, raised his wand, then stopped. "Perhaps you should change into something more comfortable, first." 

Clarence looked down at the rumpled Muggle clothing, and nodded. His father turned around while he changed into his favorite green robe. He climbed onto his bed, made sure his potion books were within easy reach, and mustered his courage. "I'm ready." 

His father turned back around and nodded. "_Locomotor Mortis_!" He gave his son a half smile that held mostly assurance, but also a trace of humour. "Well, you won't be wandering off to Hogwarts again during the next two days now." 

That was a joke. His father was joking with him. He giggled, more from the sheer unexpectedness of it than because it was funny. 

"Congratulations on Ravenclaw, Clarence," Mr. Tragyl added, before returning downstairs. Clarence stared after him, astonishment holding him in place as much as the curse. It wasn't until Lulli entered with a plate of toast and cup of pumpkin juice a few minutes later that he broke his stunned stillness. Eventually, he decided that the punishment must have made his father feel guilty enough to go temporarily insane, and that was why he had acted so nice before leaving. The only other posibility was that someone had used polyjuice potion and was doing a very poor job of impersonating him.   
  
  


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	4. Sunday Showdown

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Three: Sunday Showdown 

When the Sorting was over, Slytherin House had gained six new members. It was smaller than most years, but the whole new class was smaller. They were split three and three across the table: boys on one side, girls on the other. As they ate the Welcoming Feast, conversation turned to introductions. "Weston Avery," the boy nearest the older students named himself. "Pureblood." 

"Martin Lodge, pureblood," the boy next to him volunteered next. 

Pattern established, the gazes of the first years shifted to Harris. "Harris Tragyl, pureblood." 

"Tragyl," Avery said, before Evalyn could introduce herself. "My father speaks of yours. Your mother is a Gryffindor, isn't she?" 

Knowing it was a dangerous admission in present company, he nodded. 

Avery pressed his lips together into a thin line. "You are?" he asked Evalyn, summarily dismissing Harris. 

Lifting her chin with the ease of habit, answered cooly, "Evalyn Watson, pureblood." The introduction was so far from her smiling, "I'm Evalyn Watson," that she'd given on the train that he wondered if it was even the same girl. 

The girl beside her introduced herself as "Madeline Talbot, pureblood." 

Gazes shifted to the last first year, seated across from Avery. She seemed to shrink under their scrutiny. "Candice Nickels." 

When it became obvious that no 'pureblood' was forthcoming, Martin Lodge frowned uncertainly. "Mudblood?" 

Candice bit her lip, but sat up in offense, angry pinks spots coloring her cheeks. "My father is Muggle," she said tightly. "Mother was pureblood Slytherin." Harris noted the past tense, but dared not ask. 

Evalyn diverted attention from the unfortunate Slytherin girl by shifting it in a direction Harris would rather have avoided. "That pipsqueak was your brother?" 

"Looks like a Weasley, if you ask me," Martin said, his voice disparaging, shooting a dark look at the Gryffindor table, where two red-heads were sitting side by side. A minor dispute between the pair appeared to be quickly escalating toward a food fight. 

"Charlie and Bill are third cousins on my mother's side," Harris admitted. He didn't let his voice show that he wished the ground would swallow him whole. Not only did his new Slytherin classmates know he had Gryffindor blood, but they knew it was _Weasley_ Gryffindor blood. He was fairly sure he was better off than Candice, but not by much. 

"Talbot," Avery redirected the conversation, possibly finding the Weasleys to be an inappropriate dinnertime topic. "I don't believe I'm familiar with your family name." 

Madeline shifted uneasily, but she answered clearly, "I am the first to attend Hogwarts. Both of my parents studied at Beauxbatons." Now that she had spoken more than her name, Harris could detect a faint French accent to her words. She was an unknown quantity. Avery wouldn't like that. She'd rank fourth in the pecking order as long as Evalyn and Martin didn't have skeletons in their pedigrees. Harris assumed Avery would take the top spot. His family was wealthier and more well known than either the Lodges or the Watsons. 

Avery did not challenge either of the others, and they did not offer up any embarassing family secrets to drop themselves down a rung or two of the social ladder. Martin made the first attempt to dethrone Avery. "I hear your father is under investigation, Weston." 

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Nothing will come of it. They have no proof, and my father is nearly as untouchable as Malfoy. Your grandfather was not so fortunate, was he, Tragyl?" 

Harris fount himself suddenly the center of attention again. He chewed quickly, praying that he didn't have spaghetti sauce all over his face, and swallowed. "Uh, no, he wasn't." He wasn't sure if it would be wiser to insist on the man's innocence or pretend he was guilty. He dabbed a napkin against his mouth, and was pleased to see that it came away fairly clean. He folded it neatly and placed it beside his plate, then looked up at his classmates, widening his eyes a fraction to indicate that was all he intended to say on the subject. 

"Your grandfather is in Azkaban?" Madeline asked, looking confused enough for him to attribute the question to difficulty following the conversation rather than intentional cruelty. 

"Yes," he answered shortly. She looked horrified at this revelation, though he couldn't tell if that was because of the perceived crime to get there, or the bad luck that he'd been caught. She cleared up the issue by shifting her chair a few inches farther from him. Of couse, that put her nearer Avery, who never actually said his father was innocent. From the nasty remarks Mrs. Tragyl made about the Averys, chances were slim that they weren't involved somehow. But as Weston said, that didn't _prove_ anything. 

Truth be told, she said the same kinds of things about her in-laws. 

Fortunately, Dumbledore ended the discussion by giving his start-of-term announcements and sending them on their way. The six first years gathered around their Prefect, a sixth year named Amanda Walters. She led the way down to the Slytherin dormitories in the dungeons. "Influence," she told a blank stone wall. It swung open to a long, narrow room. She stood in front of a low coffee table and urged the six into a semicircle around her. 

"This is the Slytherin Common Room. Boys dorms are down that hall, and the girls dorms are down the other hall," she directed, pointing in the appropriate directions. "Your things have already been brought in. Schedules will be distributed at breakfast tomorrow, at 8 o'clock. Don't be late. The Head of House is Professor Wallsby. If you have any problems come to either me or him." She clapped her hands, suddenly and loud enough to make some of the first years jump. "Now off to bed with you all." 

* * *

Breakfast the next morning was significantly less painful. Clarence's small red-headed existance wasn't anywhere in evidence, thus allowing Harris to pretend nothing unusual had happened yesterday. Schedules were distributed, raising groans from some of his five classmates. "Gryffindors! We've got three classes with Gryffindors?" Avery complained. 

"Only one with Hufflepuff though," Martin replied, as though offering a consolation. 

Harris was probably the only one upset over the fact that they would be sharing four classes with the Ravens. Slytherins generally considered them the least objectionable of the lesser houses, but that was Clarence's nominal house. They might talk about the little firetop. That could bring attention Harris did not want. 

September first of 1984 had falled on a Saturday, so it wasn't until the next day that they would have their first class. The day was sunny and warm, so the Slytherin first years decided to take a self-guided tour of the grounds. Since not one of them had read _Hogwarts, A History_, the only point of interest that they could recognize was the Quiddich field. 

On the walk back toward the castle, they passed a group of nine first year Ravenclaws, sitting in a circle, with their prefect and a professor. Curious, Harris slowed down and veered nearer. A blond girl stood as he approached. "I'm Hilda Ross. I like strawberries and have two siblings, both younger." She turned toward the brown-haired boy next to her. "He's Justin Eckerly. He likes, um, chocolate frogs, and is an only child." She nodded at the freckled girl at Justin's other side. "That's Emily Holland. She's fond of little Clarence, and has one older brother." The speaker grinned and sent her nod toward the prefect, sitting next to Emily. "Everett Holland has one little sister, and his favorite thing is the old orange couch in the back corner of the library." 

Behind him, Harris heard someone sniggered. "Em's got a crush on your baby brother, Harris" Avery said loudly. The girl named as Emily Holland spun toward them, half rising, her face flushed bright red in embarrassment and anger. The prefect, too, angrily crouched in preparation of standing. 

Harris took a quick glance, and found that the other Slytherins had followed him. Avery stepped forward, establishing himself as the Slytherin leader. The girls hung back, but Martin stood beside him, offering support. Harris dared not step back to pull out of the confrontation, but he did not draw even with the other two. Baiting Ravenclaws had not been on his planned agenda for the day. 

The Ravenclaw circle lost definition as they straggled to their feet and into a ragged line opposite the Slytherins. The professor with them quickly inserted herself between the two groups. She glared at the Slytherins, "Clear away, or I'll take ten points from your house." 

Avery gave a mock-shudder. "Oooh, ten points." 

Before he could dig himself in deeper and lose Slytherin 50 points for insolence, Evalyn grabbed him by the back of his shirt, and pulled. He was so startled by the unexpected rebellion from his own ranks, he half-fell several steps backwards before she could steady him. They glared at each other for a moment. After this, if Evalyn wasn't top Slytherin, she'd rank last in Avery's book. Challenging his leadership in front of non-Slytherins was far worse than simply having a mudblood or a Gryffindor for a parent. Number two to number six in a blink of the eye. 

"It's not worth it, Weston," she told him, firmly. "Let's go." A direct order and the moment of truth. If he followed, she'd be leader, if he didn't she'd be virtually outcast. Evalyn turned and walked away without looking back, either unaware of the politics involved or not caring. The other two girls followed immediatedly. That was a twist. Their Slytherin class could break into opposing factions if Avery didn't capitulate. If he and Martin followed Evalyn, Avery wouldn't have a choice. But if they stood their ground, Avery would be leader of the guys, Evalyn leader of the girls. Harris did not look forward to seven years with only Avery and Martin as 'friends'. 

Harris hesitated only a moment, then followed the girls. It wasn't until they were nearly to the castle door that he looked back. Avery and Weston had not followed, but the Ravenclaws had returned to their circle, and, presumably, their name game. The other two Slytherin boys were no where in sight. So it would be opposing factions. He was sure his mother would approve of his choice of side. But Avery and Martin would make the decision very difficult to live with. Of that, he held no doubt. 

Evalyn, standing beside Harris, was also surveying the results of her tactic. "Idiots," she declared. Harris assumed she meant Avery and Martin, though he doubted pride would have let them follow Evalyn even if they had wanted to. 

"Emily Holland's father is an Auror and Avery's father is a Death Eater," Candice explained. "The Hollands and Averys hate each other. He was almost obligated to make that pot-shot against Emily." 

Madeline frowned. "I thought Weston said last night that his father was cleared." 

Harris shook his head. "Not exactly. He said nothing would come of the accusation. There's a difference." 

Candice made a face. "The difference between common knowledge and proof. The Ministry has _nothing_ on him. Not as much nothing as there is against Lucious Malfoy, but still a lot of nothing." Madeline looked confused, and Harris couldn't blame her. Candice had the grace to notice and attempt to explain her statement, "They both have very neat alibis, no witnesses to finger point at them, and lots of money to line the pockets of lawyers and officials to help ease their way out of public suspicion." 

"Oh," Madeline said quietly. Then she looked at Harris suspiciously, "Why aren't you backing up Avery? Your grandfather was -" 

"My grandfather was innocent," Harris interrupted. "Avery surely knows that. He was just taking the heat off himself last night, and rubbing it in my face while he was at it. Grandfather Tragyl had a big mouth and poor judgement, but he was pretty much harmless." He scowled at them, daring them to disagree. 

Evalyn lifted her hands placatingly. "Ok, we'll take your word for it." Madeline seemed less certain, but she gave him a half-smile and a nod that indicated she wouldn't bring it up again. 

"We don't have to," Candice disagreed. "C'mon." She broke into a trot. The followed her into the castle, and down to the Slytherin dormitory. "My mum was an Auror before she got killed last year during a raid on a hiding Death Eater group. I got her notes." She glanced back toward Harris, "I'm assuming your grandfather's trial was before last year?" 

"If you want to call it that." 

"Oh!" Evalyn exclaimed as the four filed into the first year girls room. "They took out the unused beds." 

"Yeah, wow. It's empty in here," added Candice. "Well, more floor room for us!" She went to a large trunk at the foot of one of the remaining three beds, and opened it. After a few moments rumaging through its contents, she drew out a thick sheaf of parchment. This she carried over to the center of the room and plopped it onto the floor. "It's sorted by date. You know when the trial was?" 

"December, 1981." 

She quirked her eyebrows and began flipping through the pages. "One of the first ones. Ah, here it is. Malcolm Tragyl." She turned over a pile and laid them face-down next to the original pile. The new top page, she lifted and began to read. "Today -" Candice stopped abruptly, and lowered the page. "This is mum's journal, though it mostly talks about work. The first part's about me and dad, though. I'll skip that." 

As she lifted the page again, Evalyn swiped it. "Nuh-uh. We're reading the whole thing. 'Today, I bought Candi her first broomstick. She managed to fly into the kitchen window within an hour. It shattered, of course.'" Candice buried her face into her hands while her classmates grinned at each other. "'Dan said he'd fix it tomorrow, but I saved him the trouble by casting a reparo spell. Even after nine years, magic still takes him by surprise sometimes. It's adorable. His eyes just sort of widen, and he makes this little 'oh!' sound.'" 

Madeline giggled, and Evalyn stopped reading long enough to grin delightedly at Candice. "That's so sweet." Then she contined reading, "'Candi only had a few minor cuts from the collision, so we bandaged her up, and didn't bother with magic. She'll rememeber the lesson longer that way. Speaking of lessons, another batch of trials began today. I only attended a handful before I had to leave. The first was -'" Evalyn broke off, "Let's skip the commentary on Dwight Zabini, shall we? Ok, here we go, 'The next up was Malcolm Tragyl. He came in looking like a stiff breeze could bowl him over. I'm not certain if it was the weight of the shackles, or fear, but the guard had to support him across to the accused's stand.'" 

"Probably both," Harris added, cynically. "Grandfather was already getting to be a frail old man, and I don't think anybody has ever accused him of bravery. That's why my parents are convinced he couldn't have been a Death Eater. You-Know-Who wouldn't have _wanted_ him." 

Evalyn paused a moment, then resumed reading to break the awkward silence. "'Tragyl pleaded innoncent. I'm still skeptical, but if any of this lot are, it would be him. He's sixty years old, but he looks eighty. He's spent much of the last ten years in various pubs, and I'm not convinced he's dried out even after two weeks in prison. I'm confident the jury would probably have let him go if he hadn't said that 'Lord Voldemort _should_ have killed my traitor son and his Gryffindor strumpet" when asked about his family.'" Evalyn stopped reading to join the other girls in staring at Harris. 

He blushed faintly. "We didn't speak to Grandfather Tragyl much. On the rare occassion that we went to visit, Mom and twins stayed home." 

"Why the twins, too?" Candice asked curiously. 

"You saw Clarence's hair. They could easily pass as Weasleys. That would infuriate Grandfather. As far as he was concerned Clarence and Menteron didn't exist. He might have wanted to nullify Mum, too, but he couldn't give up insulting her long enough to ignore her. 'Gryffindor strumpet' was actually one of his milder terms." He shrugged, dismissively. 

"My grandparents disowned my mother when she married Dad," Candice confided. "I used to think that was bad, but maybe it was happier all around that way." 

Harris shrugged, unwilling to comment one way or the other. "What else does it say, Evalyn?" 

She scanned the page. "Not much. It says his habit of going to Knocturn Alley so much didn't help his case any, and the jury was unanimous in its guilty verdict." 

Harris suspected that the girls' opinion of his grandfather had dropped rather than risen because of the Auror's journal. Despite that, their opinion towards him had miraculously softened. He tactfully decided not to mention that Grandfather Tragyl had liked _him_. 

* * *

Avery and Martin were already in the boys dorm when he returned. He belatedly realized that in addition to alienating the only two other Slytherin boys his age, he had also alienated his roommates. The girls could carry on a seven year war against the them to their hearts content, but they didn't need to sleep in the next bed over. This would make for an _interesting_ Hogwarts career if nothing else. 

"Uh, hi." Like the girls dorm, the empty beds had been removed. One had been pushed far off to one side. His belongings had been carelessly dumped on it, and some clothes had tumbled to the floor. Avery tossed a paperweight between his hands, drawing Harris' eye there. 

"That's mine," Harris said, recognizing too late that he was stating the obvious. 

"Not anymore," Avery said, tossing it up, and catching it. "I like it." 

A few options crossed through Harris' mind. He discarded reaching for his wand and hexing the other boys only because he didn't know any hexes. He made a mental note to speak to his father about this shortcoming next summer. Physically assaulting them was his second choice, but with two to one odds, the inadvisability of setting a violent precident this early in the game, and the liklihood of the paperweight ending up broken curbed that desire as well, but he held it in reserve. That left reverse psychology. "Keep it. It was my mother's." That gave Avery three avenues of action. He could ignore previous ownership and keep the thing until he lost interest, then Harris could discreetely reclaim it. He could take offense to previous ownership and break it. Or he could feel tainted by previous ownership and give it back. Harris wasn't really expecting the last, but there was always a chance of getting lucky. 

"Nice try," Avery taunted, and put the paperweight prominently on his dresser. Harris admitted to himself that he had never been a particularly lucky person. At least it wasn't broken. 

"How many points did you lose us today?" Harris redirected. 

Avery's eyes narrowed in anger. More because it reminded him of the desertion Harris and the girls had served him, than because he cared in the least that he had lost points. "Just what did you and Evalyn think you were doing?" 

"Staying out of trouble, for one thing. There was a teacher right there, in case you hadn't noticed. For another, that was Ravenclaw. You know, the House that we'll be sharing five classes with? Unlike Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, they generally don't despise us out of hand. You want to make the whole school hate us?" 

"What do you care? Or were you going to look for your wife in Gryffindor, like your father did? Did I mess up your wedding plans?" 

Harris glowered furiously but managed to barely control the urge to jump down Avery's throat. Sarcasm met the disparagement instead. "I was so taken with Pam, too," he said stiffly and turned his back on the pair, to try to reorganize the mess on his bed. 

"I'd've though Aurora Merriweather more your kind." 

Harris snapped. He dropped the green and silver Slytherin tie he had just picked up, and launched himself at the other boy. Avery was surprised enough that the line had set Harris off that he didn't duck in time to avoid the first punch. 

"Fight! Fight!" Martin screamed, then came in on Avery's side. 

The half-open door was pushed wide as spectators arrived on the scene, egging on all three boys. Amanda and another older student wearing a Prefect's badge pushed their way into the room and separated the participants. Avery had a bloody nose. Harris was pretty sure he'd have a black eye himself before long. Martin was relatively unscathed. 

"What started this?" the male prefect demanded. 

"He attacked me," Avery declared, pointing at Harris. 

Both prefects turned to Harris, "Why?" Amanda asked. 

"He was baiting me," Harris answered sullenly. The prefects' frowns deepened. He decided not to go into details or mention the stolen paperweight. He'd deal with that later. 

"And you?" Amanda asked of Martin. 

"Harris jumped Weston. I was trying to pull them apart." _By knocking me unconscious,_ Harris did not add. He only crossed his arms and glared at both of the other first years. 

The two prefects regarded the three offenders for a moment. "I don't want to hear about any more baiting," Amanda told Avery sternly, "Aaron, bring these two to the hospital wing if they want," she instructed a third year spectator. Then she looked at Harris and gestured toward the door, "You're coming with us to see Professor Wallsby. This is not a good start to the year, Harris." He didn't need to turn around to know that Avery and Martin were smirking at him as he was led away by the prefects. 

He thought about correcting Amanda. This wasn't a bad start to a year. This was a very bad start to the seven years he'd need to live with these people. He decided she probably didn't care, so he didn't bother mentioning it. 

Professor Wallsby was in his office when they arrived. Harris briefly wondered if the man had gotten wind of events, or if he'd been there anyway. He dismissed it as unimportant. "Professor, Harris assaulted one of the other first years," Amanda announced. 

Harris scowled at the gross twisting of events. But _He insulted me first_ seemed like a poor line of defense, and _He said Aurora Merriweather's name_ sounded even worse. 

Wallsby frowned, taking the scowl as unrepentance and confirmation of the charge. "This is a serious offense, Harris. If I hear of it happening again, you will be expelled, do you understand that?" 

"Perfectly, Professor" he answered, tightly enough to show that he took offense to the implication that he might not understand. He wasn't a stupid thug. Though, given the evidence available to the Head of House, it was probably a valid conclusion. He had, after all, just gotten into a fight on his first full day at Hogwarts, and hadn't said a word in defense. 

The professor gave him a hard look, then passed sentence, "You have detention all this week. Report here after dinner tomorrow. I'll be sending your parents an owl about this." Harris nodded, hiding his dismay. That was to be expected. Best write to Mum as soon as he got back, explaining what happened. With luck, he could forestall a howler. 

Wallsby drew out a form from a desk drawer. Harris caught the word DETENTION along its top, and decided not to bother looking too closely. "Your full name?" Wallsby asked briefly. Harris got the distince impression the man didn't really _care_ what his name was, but he needed something to write on the form. And probably to know whose parents to send the owl to. 

He considered lying, but tossed out the idea very quickly. He was in enough trouble already and the prefects knew his first name. "Harris Tragyl. Harris Malcolm Tragyl," he added, in case the professor cared what his middle name was. 

Wallsby penned this on one of the lines, and continued to fill out the remainder of the form without Harris' assistance. As he neared the end of the document, he asked without looking up, "What was the name of the student you assaulted?" 

There was that word again. "I got in a fight with Weston Avery, Professor. I might have thrown the first punch, but he and Martin got in their fair share at me. It was a brawl, not an assault, sir." 

Wallsby lowered his quill and looked at Harris as though for the first time. Then he glanced at Amanda. She clarified her original report, "Harris claimed Weston baited him into a fight. Weston claimed Harris attacked him. Martin - I assume the other boy was Martin - claimed to be trying to get them apart." 

"Look at this," Harris disagreed, pulling back the sleeve on his left arm. The Head of House made an odd sound as Harris thrust his fore arm in the teacher's direction to show off his wound. "Martin _bit_ me. Does that sound like someone trying to pull me away?" 

"That does sound . . . belligerent," Wallsby conceded, fully recovered from his surprise at seeing the ugly red mark on Harris's arm. "Martin and Weston will also receive an additional two days of detention, bringing their count up to a week as well." 

"How many points _did_ they lose us for disturbing the Ravenclaws? That was the incident that ultimately caused the fight." Sort of. 

Wallsby sighed. "Fortunately, only ten. Professor Vector took off twenty for Weston's behaviour, but gave ten to the girl for trying to make him back down." 

"Evalyn?" 

"I suppose so." Right, if he'd known Evalyn's name, he would have said it. "Amanda, bring him to see Madame Pomfrey. His eye is turning purple as I watch, and that arm should be seen to." He picked up the quill again, crossed out a sentence, and began writing. 

* * *

They were eating dinner when the first owl arrived at the Tragyl residence. The boys had all returned from their various overnight visits none the worse for the experiences. Grandmother Tragyl had somehow convinced her daughter-in-law to let Tryna stay another night, so three chairs around the table sat empty. Harris, of couse, was at Hogwarts. Clarence, stuck in a leg-lock curse, was more or less confined to his room. None of the brothers had yet spoken to the younger twin, and they all itched for the meal, and consequently Clarence's 'solitary punishment' time, to come to a swift end so they could get the full story out of him. 

Relieved for the break in the heavy anticipation that hung over the table like a cloud, Valr let in the bird, and untied the missive. "From Hogwarts. Bet it's about Clarence," he offered to any of his brothers who cared to take him up on it. 

"A bag of Every Flavor Beans," Menteron agreed, before any of his brothers could. Valr nodded his acceptance of the wager. Mrs. Tragyl looked for a moment like she wanted to say something against the rampant gambling her sons had recently taken to. Then she sighed and let it pass. 

Jansten gave the owl a treat and water as Valr opened the envelope. Before he opened it to read, Valr asked, "Should we get Clarence down here?" 

"Why?" Menteron taunted, "It's not about him anyway." Clearly, the twin hadn't picked up on Valr's attempt to end their brother's solitary confinement early. 

By the dark look Mr. Tragyl shot him, someone else had, though. "Give me the letter," their father instructed tersely, effectively ending the argument. Valr gave him an innocently disappointed look, but handed it over. Mr. Tragyl read the missive, his face darkening. When he finished, he gave it to his wife. She, too, began scowling as she read. "That boy is in serious trouble," Mr. Tragyl said as she folded it along its creases. 

A bag of candy hanging in the balance, Valr and Menteron followed this exchange avidly. "Ha!" Menteron cheered. "We already know Clarence is in serious trouble, so that's not news, it's about Harris, isn't it?" 

"It could still be Clarence," Valr argued back, "As you said, he is the one already in serious trouble, it could be something else to put him in even deeper." 

"Nuh-uh," Menteron disagreed, "Clarence _can't_ get in any more trouble." 

"Sure he could," Valr returned, almost cheerfully. It wasn't that he _wanted_ Clarence to get in more trouble, exactly. But he did want that bag of Beans. 

"Quiet, both of you," their mother cut off Menteron's next retort. Apparently realizing she'd have a better chance of obediance if she settled the argument, she added, "Harris got in a fight already." 

All of the boys fell silent. Even in triumph, Menteron was too surprised to celebrate. Their parents looked at each other, and a conversation Valr could not follow seemed to pass between them. As if responding to a signal, they both stood and went into the next room. Valr broke the silence, "He must have been framed. Harris wouldn't fight anybody." 

"This isn't good," Jansten opined. "By the time we get to Hogwarts, the teachers are going to think all Tragyls are troublemakers. First Clarence, then Harris . . ." 

"And they haven't even met Menteron or Valr yet," Brent added. 

Valr blinked in offense. "I am not a troublemaker," he disagreed. Judging by the looks his brothers all gave him, he was alone in this opinion. He chose to drop the subject. "Harris certainly isn't. Harris is almost as stiff as Jansten." 

Jansten frowned, but did not deny the charge. "It doesn't sound like something he'd do," the oldest brother present conceded. 

"Yeah," Menteron agreed, "If he was gonna beat someone up, he'd'a done it to me by now." 

That seemed to settle the issue. Harris was innocent. 

* * *

The second owl came shortly after the boys were excused from the dinner table. Their parents had returned to the kitchen with grim expressions, and the meal had coninued in tense silence. The bird came knocking at the window as the boys were dropping off thier plates and cups into the sink. Menteron reached it first and detached its missive. "From Harris!" he declared. 

Mr. Tragyl slipped the letter right out of the boy's hands, and began opening it. Menteron looked surprised for a moment, then grinned widely, "Wow! That was smooth, Dad!" 

"Thanks, Midget," his father returned dryly. "How 'bout you give that bird some food and water." 

Menteron gave the owl on his arm a startled look, as though he hadn't realized it was still there. "Oh, right." 

Mr. Tragyl's face remained impassive as he read Harris's note. Like the first one, he handed it to his wife when he finished. The brothers were able to glean a little more from her expression. It started with a small frown, which soon blossomed to outrage. "He's not a boy, he's a demon," she declared as she thrust the note back towards her husband, too angry to fold it herself. 

The brothers looked at each other in confusion. Surely their mother wouldn't say such things about _Harris_, would she? Granted, she called Menteron a devil all the time, but everyone knew she was joking. This wasn't a joke. 

"Even his father wouldn't say something so crass!" their mother continued to rant, throwing the boys into greater confusion. That their parents fought regularly was no secret, but she talking about him as though he weren't standing right there, and Mr. Tragyl looked only slightly put out by the insult. "Harris should get a medal for punching his face in, not a detention!" 

"Darling," Mr. Tragyl interrupted, with gentle rebuke, "the children are listening." 

Their mother flushed brightly. "Violence is never an acceptable solution to your problems," she covered her burst of temper with saintly virtue. Valr discretely covered a grin, though the unholy delight in Menteron's expression showed that not all his brothers were even pretending to let her live down the mistake. 

"Why don't you boys go check in on your brother," Mr. Tragyl rescued her. None of the boys hesitated at the chance to to get Clarence's story or relate Harris's predicament to him. They had cleared from the kitchen almost before their father finished speaking. 

Waltr watched them go, then looked at his wife. "I suppose the detention will be enough punishment for Harris." 

Keri grimaced, still a little red in the face. "Upon recent consideration, we probably need not send a Howler, after all," she agreed loftily. Waltr swallowed his amusement, knowing his wife's self-restraint was based solely on remnant embarrassment from her outburst in front of the boys. 

* * *

"So you're really in Ravenclaw?" Menteron asked when Clarence had finished his tale. He sounded almost worshipful. The other brothers ranged in expression from impressed to envious. Except Jansten, of course, who had worn an expression of dour disapproval throughout the recitation. Clarence didn't mind. That his brother was listening at all proved he was curious. 

"Yup," Clarence confirmed. "They even lost ten points because of me." It wasn't exactly something to be proud of, but it did prove he was a real member of the House. 

"And dad really put you in a leg-lock curse?" Brent asked, looking at Clarence's lower appendages as though they should look different just because they couldn't move. 

"For three whole days," Clarence declared. His brothers seemed almost as awed by this as by the fact that he had made it to Hogwarts or been Sorted. No doubt that had _not_ been his father's intent, but Clarence reveled in the attention. "See, this is me wiggling my toes." They all watched his feet, but nothing happened. 

"Wow," Menteron breathed, as if something truly remarkable had just happened. Truth was, the leg-lock curse didn't even affect his toes, he just hadn't tried to wiggle them. But none of his brothers knew that. 

"Does it hurt?" Kib asked, wide eyed. 

"Nah," Clarence assured the three year old. It didn't either, which had kind of surprised him at first. "It's just weird that when I tell stuff to move, it doesn't." 

"Oh." Their youngest brother seemed satisfied by this response to his query, and faded back among his older siblings. 

"You're not the only one in trouble," Valr announced when it became obvious nobody else had any more questions about the Hogwarts excursion. "Harris got in a fight." Clarence stared at his brother. Valr couldn't possibly think he'd buy this story. "Mum wants to give him a medal, but Dad seems ok with the detention he got." 

Clarence looked at his twin, who was nodding. Were they all in this scam? A scan of the other brothers' expressions showed no surprise, only amused confirmation. They were all in on it then. Kib would break first. "Really?" he asked his only younger brother. 

They small boy nodded. "'Vie-dolence is never a 'septical solution to problems,'" he said solemnly. By the grins and chortles coming from his older brothers - even Jansten had cracked an involuntary smile - Clarence was clearly missing something. Kib grinned brightly at them, pleased by the response he had created. 

Taking pity on his obvious confusion, Brent explained, "That's what Mum said when she realized we heard her said Harris should be rewarded for punching some kid in the face. 'Violence is never an acceptible solution to your problems.'" 

For the first time, Clarence consider the possibility that the story might be true. Kib simply didn't _know_ words like violence and acceptible. He had to be quoting somebody. Clarence wavered. "Harris really got in a fight?" 

"That's what Mother says the owls said," Jansten confirmed. Jansten didn't lie. Jansten didn't know _how_ to lie. If he said it, it was true. 

"And Mum _approved_?" That was even harder to swallow. Just plain wrong, even. From time to time, Harris did look like he might _want_ to punch out the lights of one of his brothers, especially Menteron's. But Mum supporting the violent sentiment? 

"Evidently," Jansten validated. "Not at first, but after she read what Harris wrote, she seemed to." Clarence looked around at his brothers. None of them gave any indication this was anything but simple truth. 

"Wow." Now that _was_ something truly remarkable.   
  
  


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	5. Friends and Foes

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Four: Friends and Foes 

Classes began the next day. Harris had managed to talk the mediwitch, Madam Pomfrey, into letting him spend the night in the Hospital wing. Nobody else was using the beds, and few arguments about homesickness and class bullies had brought her over to his side, 'just this once'. In Harris's experience there was no such thing as 'just this once', so he considered the Hospital wing to be a safe refuge if things got really bad. 

While the other Slytherin boys were at breakfast, he swung by the dormitory to pick up his books. He knew he'd have to face them in class, but he preferred to delay that confontation for as long as possible, and to assure as many witnesses as he could. 

When he stepped through the Slyther wall, he found that Evalyn was sitting in the common room, watching the hall leading to the boys rooms. He cleared his throat. She startled and turned toward him. "There you are! I was starting to get worried." The question 'where have you been?' was implicit. 

"I spent the night up in the hospital wing." 

At that admission, Evalyn did look worried. 

"Did you hear that me and Avery got in a fight?" 

She pressed her lips together. "I'd heard," she said shortly. She plainly did not approve. 

"Well, nobody got hurt too bad, but I got a week of detention, and I convinced Madam Pomfrey to let me stay in the Hospital wing cuz my room mates might retaliate if I didn't give them a chance to cool down." He shrugged. "I don't think I was really lying, either." He hesitated a moment before asking the question he'd been considering since the night before. He didn't want to sound pathetic, but he really feared for the safety of most of his posessions. "Um, could I keep some of my stuff in your dorm? I mean, you've got the room, right?" With four absent beds, he knew perfectly well that they had plenty of space. 

She seemed to realized that she was being manipulated, judging by the sidelong look she gave him, but she shrugged back at him. "Yeah, sure." 

He smiled his thanks, then glanced at the boy's hall. He forced the smile to stay fixed in place. "Well, I guess I'll go see what's left. Coming?" he tagged on the invitation almost as an afterthought, but silently begged for her to agree. He didn't really want to go in there by himself, devoid of Avery though it was. 

She made a show of considering it, then nodded, "I guess. Who needs breakfast anyway, right?" 

He grinned at her briefly, then led her to the first years' room. The carnage really wasn't as bad as he was expecting. Evalyn still gasped, but Jansten's room had looked far worse after the twins had turned it inside out looking for something or other that they had thought their older brother had confiscated from them. Or was it Valr who had exacted revenge, after getting tattled on, by messing with the insane neatness and organization of Jansten's domain? Whichever. Jansten's room had been in shambles. This was nothing by comparison. 

The pile of clothes, books, and other personal effects that had been heaped on his bed were now spread evenly across the mattress, and dumped onto the floor. It looked like Avery and Martin had been going through it looking for something. Harris glanced through the mess, but didn't notice anything missing. He was relieved to see that his books and other school supplies were all still in one piece. 

"You don't have time to clean that all up now," Evalyn commented, oh-so-helpfully. 

Harris nodded, "I know. I just want to get my texts and notebooks out of their reach. Maybe a change of clothes. The telescope." He looked at her. "You sure you don't mind?" 

She gave him an exasperated look. "We're three people living in a eight-person room. I think we can spare the space for a telescope and a pile of books." He collected the endangered items, and gave the telescope and a small bundle of clothes to Evalyn to carry, and took the books himself. Struggling under their weight, he gave another look around his disarray of belongings. "The cauldron should be all right. I need most of my clothes here. Let's go." 

As they stowed the things away in a corner of the girl's room, Evalyn cleared her throat, and straightened. Harris looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "What?" 

"What was the fight about?" 

Harris frowned. "I don't see that it's any of your concern." 

She scowled right back at him. "If it was about yesterday afternoon -" 

"It wasn't," he interrupted, sharply. 

Somewhat taken aback, Evalyn only said, "Oh." 

"It was about Aurora Merriweather," he continued, outraged, not at her, but at Avery. As he spoke, he realized he was answering her question, but was unable to stop the words. 

Evalyn's eyes narrowed in bafflement. "Who's Aurora Merriweather?" 

Harris sank onto one of the beds, not looking at Evalyn. "She's one of the other first years. Gryffindor. Her Mum and mine were best friends. The Merriweathers were more like cousins than any of our real cousins. We tutored with each other until -" he stopped, and fought down emotion. He would _not_ cry, not in front of Evalyn. "Death Eaters killed them all but Aurora. They'd'a killed her, too, if they'd known she was home, but she was always real good at hide-and seek, and they never found her. They tortured and killed her whole family but she never made a sound. She watched -" Harris forced his voice to remain even. "I haven't seen her much lately, but she's different now. She doesn't laugh. Almost never smiles, and when she does, it's scary. I wouldn't get into a staring contest with her, either. It's too eerie. I don't think she _can_ blink anymore, except on purpose." He lifted his gaze from his shoes to Evalyn's face. 

She looked horrified. Good. What happened to Aurora _was_ horrible. He continued, "Then, on top of all that, Weston Avery," Harris twisted the name into something disgusting found only under rocks, "goes and makes some stupid joke about her, like she's already his favorite Gryffindor target. It was sick. I _had_ to punch him in the face." 

"Oh," Evalyn said in a very small voice. 

"We should get to class." 

She looked at the clock hanging on the wall. They had only three minutes to get to the Transfiguration classroom, but her agreement was subdued, "Yeah." 

* * *

They arrived four minutes late. A cat, sitting on the teacher's desk, watched them enter with what Harris would swear was disapproval. He and Evalyn took an empty table at the back of the classroom, leaving another between them and the one shared by Avery and Martin. In the front row, Madeline and Candice shared the table two in front of the boys. On the Gryffindor side, Pam and Tommy shared the back one. Walrus, still wearing his high tops, sat in front of them with Charlie Weasley. Harris scanned over the others, who he didn't know, until he saw Aurora Merriweather sitting at the table second from the front. He swallowed, and looked down at his tabletop. Somebody had carved "Transfigure this" into the wood. 

A hushed muttering filled the room, and Harris looked up again. The cat had jumped down from the desk. As he watched, it transformed into Professor McGonagall. "Welcome to Transfigurations," she welcomed. A glance toward him and Evalyn somehow gave the words an acerbic connotation in their case. Harris wished he knew how she did that. 

McGonagall's stern disipline kept Avery from making comments during class. A number of harsh glares had been shot in his direction over the course of the lecture, and from what he could make of the Slytherin leader's body language, given that he could only see his back, Harris guessed she had quelled several attempts at disrespectful remarks. Avery had apparently learned not to badger a teacher in her own classroom, at least. It would be bad for his own grade as well as Slytherin's point count. 

But once the class was over, and the students filed from the room, her authority ended. Harris had wanted to escape as quickly as possible. Bravery was not his strong suit after all; he was Slytherin not Gryffindor. But Evalyn hung back, waiting for Madeline and Candice. The Gryffindor quartet, Pam, Tommy, Walrus, and Charlie, came out first. Remembering them from the train, Pam and Tommy offered him and Evalyn hesitant smiles, as though not sure if getting Sorted into Slytherin had suddenly changed them into horrible beasts that would attack with dripping fangs at any perceived provacation. 

Harris smiled sourly back. "We don't bite, you know," he commented dryly, with a wave to indicate that the four Gryffindors were giving them an overly large berth as they passed. 

"Tell that to last night's dinner," Pam returned, though the small grin showed she was joking. It was as good an invitation for friendship as a Slytherin could expect from a Gryffindor. 

"Hmm," Harris pretended to consider. "I think you're right. We do bite. And we eat bowls of cereal for breakfast," he added in a tone normally reserved for intimidation. 

Tommy laughed, and the other three Gryffindors grinned. Almost without conscious thought, they moved nearer, to a more normal conversation distance. 

"I'm Harris Tragyl, and this is Evalyn Watson," he introduced, since that seemed the polite thing to do now. Though he knew all their names, formal introductions had never been made to either Charlie or Walrus. 

"Richard Jackson, but call me Walrus, all the Gryffindors do," Walrus grinned, "Never thought George, Ringo, Paul, and John would be responsible for my name." 

"Who?" Evalyn asked, her face and voice exactly duplicating the utter bafflement Harris felt. 

"George, Paul, John, and Ringo," Walrus repeated, as though the names meant something. "The Beatles." When the Slytherins' confusion did not lessen, he rolled his eyes. "They're the muggle music group who's song I named on Saturday. 'I am the Walrus.'" 

"Oh," Harris and Evalyn said together. 

"You should hear it. It's wicked," Charlie added, a devilish light in his eyes. "Walrus has a Walking Man that can play the song right into your ears." 

"Don't ask me why it's called that, though," Tommy chimed in, "It looks nothing like a man, and it doesn't even walk. It's just a little black box, with earmuffs, that you can put a music casket into." Walrus and Pam exchanged long-suffering sighs, but didn't try to defend the naming scheme of the muggle object. 

Harris looked at Evalyn, who shrugged back, a dubious look on her face. Her mental image of the thing must be as much a monstrosity as his own. Why would a box need to wear earmuffs, anyway? And what, in the name of Merlin, was a music casket? Were they used to bury unspeakably wretched songs? If so, perhaps the wizarding world should consider introducing them. 

"What's this?" a cold voice asked. 

Harris startled, and retreated a defensive step away from the speaker. He'd been dreading this confrontation since the prefects had taken him from the dorm room. Beside him, Evalyn scowled and turned toward the voice, not backing down an inch. "Weston," she stated his name with waning patience. 

Madam Pomfrey had evidently done as good a job cleaning him up as she had patching up Harris. There were no obvious signs that Avery'd broken his nose in a fight less than twelve hours before. Of his own injuries, only the bite on his arm was even remotely visible, and the mediwitch had promised it, too, would be gone by tonight. 

"Evalyn," Avery stated her name in the same tone. The Gryffindors and Harris backed away, leaving the two facing each other in the center of a growing circle as more students came out of the transfiguration classroom, and stayed to watch what promised to be a nasty Slytherin vs Slytherin fight. The tension in the air between them was palpable. 

Martin pushed his way into the circle's center, and flanked Avery. Madeline and Candice wiggled free of the spectators and stood at either side of Evalyn. Getting involved was the very last thing Harris wanted to do. Hiding under his bed, blending with the crowd; these seemed much more acceptable options. But his feet took him to stand next to Candice. 

"Fight!" someone yelled. But it wasn't. So far, it was only a stand-off. Evalyn and Avery matched each other stare for stare, oblivious to the crowd around them. Even should the tension break into violence, 'brawl' would be the better descriptor. He didn't think Evalyn would let it reach that, though. A brawl would surely loose them house points. 

"I suggest you leave off," Evalyn said, cooly. 

"Or what?" Avery challenged. "You'll sic your dog Harris on me again? As I recall, he was the one who spent the night in the Hospital Wing." 

Harris drew in a sharp angry breath and his fists clenched at his sides as he took an involuntary half-step forward. Evalyn sharply waved him back, which really did nothing good for his image, but he obediently subsided. 

"Good doggy," Martin sneered. Harris sneered back, as best he could, though he guessed Martin had far more practice with the expression. 

A shrill whistle cut the air, slicing apart the glares of Evalyn and Avery. Both turned toward the sound, along with everyone else. McGonagall made for a very stern figure, her mouth pinched into a small, tight line. Her hard eyes flickered among the combatants, reading intent and events from stance and expression. "You," she pointed at Avery, "and you," Evalyn, "Come with me." 

Evalyn was at her side first. "Nothing happened, Professor. We were just discussing things," she tried to explain as they walked away. 

McGonagall's response was not encouraging. "'Discussions', Ms. Watson, such as you were having with Mr. Avery, often lead to visits to the Hospital Wing." Any further discussion was lost to distance. Avery followed, scowling, several paces behind. 

Outnumbered, without his leader, Martin slinked away in the opposite direction. Candice, Madeline, and Harris exchanged nervous looks, still surrounded by Gryffindors. Charlie stepped forward, breaking the renewed tension. "What was that all about, Cousin?" he asked Harris, obviously speaking for all the spectators. 

Candice and Madeline pulled away slightly, Slytherin instinct to distance themselves from Gryffindor relations, no doubt. Harris tried not gape at Charlie. He knew their parents were second cousins. Mum had said so in that joke shop. But he had never expected Charlie to acknowledge it, especially since Harris himself had been Sorted into Slytherin. His own first cousins on Mum's side didn't consort with the Tragyls, because _Father_ was a Slytherin. Yet, here was a distant relation he'd only just met, blithely calling him 'Cousin' as though they'd known each other for ages and were the best of friends. 

"I, that is, Evalyn and Avery, they haven't gotten along that well since yesterday when Evalyn told him to leave the Ravenclaws alone. This was a continuation of that argument. I think. Cousin." 

If Harris was mildly surprised by getting called 'Cousin', it was nothing to Charlie's reaction when it was returned. The Weasley grinned hugely, as though Harris had granted him an inheritance of a million galleons, then flung his arm across Harris's shoulders. Harris staggered under the sudden weight, blushing furiously, eyes wide in shock at the overly friendly touch. "Lookit this, guys," Charlie called to his Gryffindor buddies, "My Slytherin coz is actually a decent guy. He called me Cousin." By the pride in the last sentence, Harris would have thought he'd done something remarkable, like saved Charlie's life or called him the greatest and most brilliant Quiddich player to ever grace Earth with his presence. Not something so simple as calling a cousin 'Cousin'. 

"He's not bad," said a quiet voice, almost lost in the laughter following Charlie's declaration. 

Harris pulled away from Charlie, seeking the speaker in the crowd, his face pale, though it had been bright red only moments before. 

She stood near the door to McGonagall's classroom. Her robes looked used, and her short hair was cropped unevenly, and stood up in spiked clumps. Her hands were dirty, and her shoes didn't exactly match. She looked straight at Harris, not sparing a glance for anyone else now that she had him in her sights. It was a disturbing sensation, but he pretended to smile in a friendly fashion, "Aurora. Hi." 

The specatator's earlier exuberance drained precipitously. Even her housemates weren't quite sure how to take Aurora's intensity, and they stepped back, leaving a clear line of sight between the strange girl and Harris. "How's it going?" Harris asked casually, but winced inwardly. Obviously, it wasn't going well. Her parents, brothers, and sisters were all dead, her new schoolmates all thought she was freak who needed pity more than anything else, and even if she didn't know it yet, Avery was going to make her life miserable. More so that it already was. 

"It's going. How's your Mum?" 

"She's good." Couldn't ask how hers was. "Like Hogwarts, so far?" 

"'Salright. How's little Janny?" 

Harris couldn't help it. He started to laugh. Caught up in his own laughter, he couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her crack a genuine smile. "_Jansten_," he wheezed when he could, stressing the full name, "will hunt you down and kill you if he finds out you called him 'little Janny'." There were sharp intakes of breath from the Gryffindors at this, though Aurora did not seem to find it nearly so blasphemous as the others. In fact, her nearly unrecognizable quirk of a smile broadened a fraction of a millimeter. 

"So how is he?" 

"He's taller than I am by a good four inches, for starters. He'll be here next year and you can ask little Janny yourself what he's been up to." 

She nodded thoughtfully. "That's a long time, Harris. What house is he likely to get?" 

"Even money between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Clarence is accepting bets if you want to take Gryffindor." 

"Kid Genius thinks he'll be Slytherin? Why's that?" 

Harris shrugged. "It's where Jansten wants to go." 

Aurora frowned, the expression looking far more natural on her face than the near smile, much to Harris' dismay. "He does? Why?" 

Harris stepped nearer, and lowered his voice. "Don't let this get passed around certain Slytherin circles, but he's gonna be an Auror, and he wants to know the enemy as well as he possibly can." 

Aurora's frown was gone, but the smile was still missing, too. Still, she somehow managed to look smug as she nodded acceptance of this explanation. Then all expression left as she asked, "What's your excuse, Harris?" 

Harris' brows lifted. "My excuse?" 

"What are you doing in that wretched hive?" He thought he saw Walrus smirk briefly at her words, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. 

Harris shrugged. "The hat said I was ambitious, like Dad, and I was only a little bit brave." He flushed faintly. 

Surprisingly, Charlie put an arm around his shoulders again. "That's alright, coz. We won't hold it against you, will we, guys?" 

Walrus grinned. "Nah. We'll even make you lots brave by the time you get out of here." 

The look of perfect alarm that crossed Harris' face at that moment was enough to make even Aurora almost laugh. 

* * *

Harris returned to the Slytherin common room with Candice and Madeline. They keep sneaking odd looks at him, as though expecting his robes to suddenly turn red and gold. Frankly, he wouldn't really mind if they did. Gryffindors were a much nicer bunch, if somewhat weird. Though, he did have to admit that green and silver were far superior house colors. He reflected breifly that it was a very sad state of affairs that his only source of Slytherin pride was directed toward their colors. 

Evalyn was waiting for them. "What took you three so long?" she asked curiously. "I got a detention, and still got back before you." 

"A detention?" Harris asked, surprised. He'd had every confidence that she would get out of trouble scot-free. 

She made a face. "Yeah. I'll be with you, Martin, and Weston tonight. We're scrubbing the trophy room. Bring a toothbrush. We did manage not to lose any house points, though, which is what I was most worried about. The detention was for 'disturbing the peace'." 

"Should've been just Avery then," Harris commented. "His mere existence disturbs the peace." 

"His father's, too," Candice agreed. 

Harris grinned at Madeline and Candice, "You two should start a row in front of McGonagall, then the whole Slytherin first year class can have detention together." 

"_Merci mais le non_," Madeline declined. "I like idea of no detention much better." 

"I'm with her," Candice agreed. "I think your Gryffindor cousin rubbed off on you a bit too much." 

Harris conceded that it was possible. "Maybe. But Mum's a Gryffindor, too, and I know at least some of my brothers will be there. Could be any of their influence." 

"You will net believe what happened after you left," Madeline told Evalyn. 

"What?" she asked, curiously. "You didn't lose any points, did you?" 

"Non! Nothing like that." 

Candice grinned, "The Gryffindors just showed that they can tell the difference between good Slytherins and Avery Slytherins. Maybe they're not as black-and-white as Mum made them out to be. They all but adopted Harris into their House. Him and Charlie Weasley are on a Cousin-Cousin name basis." 

"Cousin-coz name basis," Harris corrected, half-bemused, half-apalled. "After that first time, he called me 'coz'." 

"They're going to try to Gryffindorize him, too. Make him braver," Candice added, clearly amused. 

Evalyn could not quite surpress a smirk. "Well, we'll need to trade, then. If they Gryffindorize our Harris, we'll need to Slytherinate one or more of them. Only fair, right? There are already more of them then there are of us. Which one seems most amiable to the transformation?" 

The two other girls shrugged at each other. "Perhaps Charlie himself? Cousin for cousin?" Madeline suggested dubiously. 

"Not a chance. Charlie's pure Weasley. Try that Walrus guy. The hat probably just put him in Gryffindor because he's muggle born, and he'll be accepted there easiest." 

"Aurora," Harris said quietly. 

All three of the girls stared at him. "Harris, she _hates_ Slytherins," Candice said carefully, as though speaking to someone who was dangerously insane. Which she doubtless thought Aurora was. 

"You heard what I said about Jansten and Slytherins, right?" 

Madeline and Candice nodded slowly, Evalyn looked lost. "Same would apply to Aurora." 

"Who's Jansten?" Evalyn asked. 

"Nevermind," Harris brushed past it, partly because he expected the other girls to explain it later, and partly because he hoped they wouldn't. It wasn't exactly that he thought Evalyn could ever be one of the 'enemy' that Jansten wanted to learn about, but of the three girls, she was the only one he suspected might have a Death Eater in the near branches of her family tree. Though, truth to tell, being French didn't neccessarily disqualify Madeline's family, either. "I'm just saying that if we want to . . . Slytherinate a Gryffindor, our best bet is Aurora. She's already scary." 

"Can't argue that," Candice muttered under her breath. 

Evalyn nodded slowly. "Sounds good, then. When the Gryffindors steal away Harris to pull their stupid, impractical, and reckless stunts, we'll befriend Aurora Merriweather and teach her the values of Slytherin." Candice and Madeline nodded reluctantly. 

Harris hoped that Aurora wouldn't kill him for trying to make her some friends, even if they were in Slytherin. He additionally hoped she wouldn't kill Evalyn for suggesting Slytherin tactics in her war against the Dark. 

Harris also hoped that Walrus, Weasley, and gang wouldn't get him killed during one of their aforementioned stupid, impractical, and reckless stunts. 

Harris hoped finally that Avery wouldn't kill him as he slept because of his new Gryffindor friendships. 

This was all in additon to the worries that he'd blow up a potion and kill himself, or fall off his broom and kill himself, or mess up something in Charms or, potentially worse, Defense Against the Dark Arts and kill himself. Or even choke on a chicken bone and kill himself. 

By the looks of that Filch caretaker guy, even tracking mud into the castle might be fatal. 

He made a mental note to owl Mum to tell her that his life was constantly in danger and he wanted to go home. The twins and Valr had the good grace to make life-threatening seem interesting instead of stressful and terrifying. 

* * *

Lunch that day was a tense affair at the first years' end of the Slytherin table. The seating arangement had changed since their Sorting night. Avery still sat with his back to the other Houses, in the seat nearest to the older students. Opposite him, Evalyn claimed the highest seat on the other side. Harris sat between her and Candice. Martin sat next to Avery and across from Harris. Madeline and Candice occupied the last chairs at the table, at the end nearest the teachers. Harris wasn't sure if he ranked higher than the other two girls, or if they simply wanted to sit across from each other and as far from Avery as possible. He suspected the latter. 

Little was spoken, except in whispers between Madeline and Candice. Harris spent most of the meal glaring at Martin everytime he got kicked under the table. Harris felt like he should receive bonus House points for resisting the urge to kick back, but no teacher noticed his valiant effort, and so the Slytherin point score remained the same. 

Harris wasn't quite sure how Evalyn and Avery managed to eat. They locked gazes the moment they sat down, and never once looked away from the other. Luck alone seemed responsible for getting food onto their forks. No words passed between them, or to their followers. Their full attention was relegated to mantaining their intense staring contest. At the end of the meal, by some unspoken signal, they stood up as one. Then, without warning, it was over. 

Evalyn looked down the table at the other girls and Harris, and said, as though continuing some previous conversation, "History of Magic next. Let's get our books." 

History of Magic was with the Ravenclaws. Harris wasn't sure if he should be more glad that it wasn't the Gryffindors again so soon, or anxious because Avery would surely not leave Emily Holland alone and a repeat of yesterday seemed almost inevitable. 

Fortunately, Emily was one of the last to arrive before Binns started his lecture, and, as in McGonagall's class, Avery and Martin did try to behave during classtime. However, the ghostly professor was as dead boring as rumour made him out to be, and the other Slytherin boys, along with some of the rest of the class, soon found they could not focus on the professor's words without dropping into a stupor. Harris suspected the percentage of those paying attention was actually relatively high this period. He saw three Ravenclaws taking meticulous notes, including Emily, two more obviously listening closely, and even Evalyn seemed capable of taking sporadic notes. 

Within fifteen minutes of the start of class, Candice, Martin, and two Ravenclaws had fallen asleep. Next to him, Madeline was telling the Ravenclaw girl on her other side a story in whispered french. Avery, like Harris, watched the rest of the class. The last Ravenclaw had pulled out a book and started reading. Without anything interesting to watch, Harris soon fell to doodling in his notebook. The next time he looked up, Avery, too, had succumbed to sleep. Evalyn had apparently developed full immunity, and was now scribbling away notes with the best of the Ravenclaws. Either that, or she was writing something totatally unrelated. One of the listening Ravenclaws had worn out his resistance, now dozing fitfully and looking around with a glazed expression during his moments of semi-lucidity. 

When the two-hour class finally drew to a close, Emily, and the other Ravenclaw note-takers were gone before the sleepers managed to wake up. Harris was glad to see that the confrontation had gotten postponed, once Evalyn shook him awake. Madeline was shaking Candice awake, as he rubbed gummy sleep from his eyes and noted Emily's absence and Avery's still sleeping form. The four Slytherins left the classroom without bothering to awaken their housemates. On his way out, Harris 'accidently' bumped into one of the sleeping Ravenclaws, left for dead by their own. She startled awake from the jostling, cleverly deduced that class was over, and proceeded to wake the boy next to her. Harris left, feeling accomplished after his good deed for the day. 

He wondered briefly if having a good deed of the day made him a poor excuse of a Slytherin. Then he consoled himself with the fact that his idea of a good deed was bumping into someone. Surely even Avery couldn't complain about that. 

* * *

The difference between dinner and lunch was that Evalyn and Avery pretended that the other did not exist. It was only a guess, but Harris suspected that after lunch, they just couldn't stand the idea of looking at each other ever again. That much Avery in so short a time had to do bad things to one's sanity, so he really couldn't blame Evalyn. 

Detention that night was remarkably unremarkable. Filch and his spooky cat kept things quiet, and each student took a rag, a bucket of water, a bottle of cleaning solution, and a corner of the trophy room. Three hours passed in absolute silence save for the splash of water or the slap of a wet rag hitting something in need of washing. 

Harris liked to believe that if Filch had had the good sense to escort them back to their dormitory, the night would have passed uneventfully, and nothing would have changed. Instead, at the end of the detention period, the caretaker dismissed them, and trudged away, to return the cleaning supplies to whatever niche they had come from. This left the four Slytherin students, alone, in a seemingly deserted castle, after curfew. 

At first, nothing happened. They left the trophy room and began the trek back to the dungeons without incident. The halls were dark, and despite their dislike of one another, the four drew closer together. Harris didn't really know what, exactly, they were worried about. They knew the school was well protected. The ghosts were mostly on a first name (or nick name) basis with the students, and even Peeves would just try to bring down Filch upon them with his 'STUDENTS OUT OF BED' alarm. But Filch already knew they were out and about, so that wasn't a problem, either. 

The low, silky voice coming from down a seldom used side passage into the dungeons was the first indication that something was amiss. Being Slytherins, their first instinct was to eavesdrop, so, as one, they sidled against the wall, and crept nearer. They were nearly to the corner before they could make out words. 

"I fail to see how this concerns me, Minerva," the silky voice commented sourly. 

"They are students of your House, I don't see how it doesn't concern you." The second, curt voice voice could belong only to McGonagall. 

"Perhaps when I am Head of Slytherin House, it may become my problem, but they will likely have graduated by then. You should be talking to Wallsby, not me." 

There was a hiss that made Harris wonder if the Gryffindor Head of House might have turned back into a cat momentarily, but the voice that spoke next was both human and McGongall's. "I tried. He will hear none of it." 

"Neither will I, Minerva. I will not and cannot go over Wallsby's head. It is the boy's own fault in any case. If you insist on forcing the issue, talk to the Headmaster. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to teach in the morning." 

The meeting, such as it was, broke up, and light footsteps approached them. Evalyn ducked behind a suit of armor, Avery and Martin slipped into dark doorway. Harris looked around for a place to hide, panic rising. The footsteps were ever closer. He dashed back the way they had come, and took refuge in the next shadowed doorway he came to. After a minute or two, he saw McGonagall pass, alone, less than two feet from his hiding place. He hoped ferverently that he would not sneeze anytime in the very near future. 

When she passed out of sight, he more fell out of hiding than stepped into the hall. Evalyn, Avery, and Martin were waiting for him. He joined them. "Who was the Slytherin teacher?" 

"Snape, likely," Avery answered. "Father says he's the only other teacher besides Wallsby who was Slytherin. We've got him first thing tomorrow for potions. His voice should be pretty easy to identify." 

Evalyn nodded her agreement. "That's for sure. What do you suppose they were talking about?" 

"Some idiot Slytherins who got in trouble, probably," Martin guessed. 

Harris couldn't contain a short laugh. "It's only the first day of classes, how many idiot Slytherins could have gotten in trouble already? I mean, besides us four." 

"You don't suppose it was us they were talking about?" Evalyn asked him, doubtfully. 

"It makes a certain kind of symmetry, doesn't it? I mean, we were the ones who overheard it." 

"What I want to know is, what does McGonagall care?" Avery asked. "If we were picking on one of her precious Gryffindors, I could see it, but we were fighting ourselves." No evidence of said fighting was detectable now, as the four stood in close proximity, trying to determine what, exactly, it was that they had just overheard. The Slytherins were united again, if only for a short while. 

"Snape said something about it being 'his own fault'," Evalyn remembered, "Who's 'he'?" 

Harris thought that was obvious enough. "Avery. He was the one involved in every confrontation." 

Avery shook his head. "No. Whoever 'he' is, McGonagall must feel bad for him, or she wouldn't being trying to get Snape, Wallsby, or Dumbledore involved. She wouldn't give a rat's rear end about _me_." 

Evalyn looked toward Harris suddenly enough for Avery and Martin to notice. 

Avery's expression clouded in confusion. "I don't think she cares much for Harris, either, Evalyn. When she broke up the fight this afternoon, she glared him worse than she did Martin. I'm sure she almost made him come with us, since he was the one who almost hit somebody." 

"That was before she started hearing rumours from her Gryffindors," Evalyn disagreed. Harris shot her a look of panic and betrayal. Surely, she wasn't thinking of telling _Avery_ about the plan to Gryffindorize him. Ignoring him, Evalyn continued, "It has to be Harris." 

"Why?" More clinical than curious, and not at all accusatory. They could have been discussing strangers, for all the emotion either were showing. 

"His cousin, Charlie Weasley, and his friend, Aurora Merriweather, reunited with him while we were getting our detention. Candice and Madeline say the whole group of Gryffindors all but adopted him." 

Harris stared at her, face white with shock, fear, and betrayal. Avery looked at him, calculatingly. "That would explain it," he told Evalyn, as though Harris were not present, or, perhaps worse, a nonentity. 

Evalyn regarded him without pity. "Honestly, Harris, did you really expect to be Gryffindorized, and still be accepted among us? We have our reputations to maintain, you know." 

Harris liked to believe that if Filch had had the good sense to escort them back to their dormitory, the night would have passed uneventfully, and nothing would have changed. Then he could blame Filch instead of Evalyn.   
  
  


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	6. Squirrels, Schools, and Silence

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Five: Squirrels, Schools, and Silence 

Clarence's cursed legs had been cool, at first. Even Clarence thought so. Still did, sort of. But by Monday afternoon, Menteron was decidedly disenchanted with the whole idea. His twin couldn't come out and play with him. He was stuck in that stuffy room with an iron-clad excuse to keep reading his stupid books. It was hard enough to tear him away from them under normal circumstances. Menteron was bored. 

His older brothers were busy with their tutors. Kib and Tryna were playing something baby-ish with Lulli. Menteron was too big for those games now. He was five. He had his own tutor, too, but she had already left for the day. She'd left him a worksheet that he was supposed to use to trace the alphabet again before she came back tomorrow, but that was dull work, and he intended to put it off as long as possible. Outside, it was bright and sunshiney and nice. 

He slipped out the back door without telling the elf where he was going. Mum and Father wouldn't be back from work until almost nighttime, so he had ages before anyone would notice he wasn't inside bothering his brothers. But outside was boring too with just himself. Without his twin to provide weird historical facts to guide their play in the sandbox, he quickly discovered that the dirt had lost its appeal. 

He tried the swing set next, but without Valr there outjump him or make bets on whether he'd go around the top, that too seemed to emphasize that he was by himself. Harris's broomstick stood temptingly in the back shed, and he'd gone as far as trying to pick the padlock before a lack of audience made even that quest seem pointless. 

And only _one_ of his seven siblings had run off to Hogwarts so far. How much worse would it get before Menteron could go? He wandered toward the front of the house with no conscious decision to go there. The trees along the drive were some of the best on the property for climbing, so he shimmied up the first one he came to. 

It suddenly struck him as a great idea to try jumping to the next closest one. Squirrels did it all the time, and he was a lot bigger and smarter than a squirrel. It never occured to him that these might be reasons to discourage trying it. The sensation of flying was quite exilerating, and the near miss at catching the other tree only made it that much more exciting. He scurried over to the opposite side of his new host tree, and gave a whoop as he leapt to the next one in the line. 

By the time he reached the end of the drive, he had quite forgotten his loneliness and had come to the conclusion that broomsticks were for sissies. Real wizards jumped tree-to-tree. He hardly noticed that he was bleeding from countless small cuts and scrapes on his hands, arms, and legs. 

The avenue of trees stretched nearly a mile, and he had been at his squirrel routine for almost two hours. His arms and legs were getting tired, and the space between the last tree of the row and his current position was just a little wider. His final jump fell short, and his grasping hands caught only leaves. Menteron screamed. 

He twisted in the air, and he realized he was now falling face first toward the ground. It rushed toward him at an alarming rate. Still screaming, he desperately willed himself to keep turning and for the ground to be soft and cusiony. Landing on his back might have been coincidence. He was already twirling and spinning uncontrollably. But the chances of what should have been hard dry ground sinking under his weight like a giant air mattress and bouncing him back up a few times until he came to a relatively painless halt were pretty slim. 

"Cool," he whispered, still on his back, and staring up at the sky through the tree gap he had failed to jump. "Guess that proves _I'm_ no squib." Ever since Clarence had set the couch on fire over two years ago, that had been worrying him. He gingerly propped himself up on one elbow, recognizing with a groan that he had not survived completely scatheless. His whole back hurt. 

"Over here!" called out a voice Menteron did not know. There was a rustling of leaves and cracking of twigs as more than one person approached. A group of three boys, no older than Menteron, wearing identical red polo shirts burst through the surrounding undergrowth that seperated the Tragyl property from the rest of England. 

_Muggles!_ Menteron identified them with alarm. The 'neighbors' who he and his brothers were under strict orders to never have any contact with. The 'neighbors' who must surely think his house deserted, or, at least, inhabited by crazy hermits or snobby rich folk or crazy snobby rich hermits or rich crazy . . . . something. He stopped that line of thought, having managed to confuse even himself. 

The Muggle boys came closer, but stopped in a disordered clump just beyond his reach. Not that he wanted to reach them. He regarded the strangers as if they were wild creatures. _Fascinating_ wild creatures, but wild creatures. He clambered to his feet, the movement sending shooting pains all over. He wavered. 

One of the boys sprang forward and caught him before he fell. "Are you okay? We heard a scream." 

The vertigo soon passed, and he nodded. Then he pointed to the branches ovehead. "I was jumping and missed." 

This announcement garnered an assortment of amazed and sympathetic exclamations. The first boy reluctantly stepped back, uncertain whether Menteron could keep his feet. The Muggle reiterated his original question, "Are you okay?" 

"I hurt and I'm kinda shakey," Menteron admitted, "But I'll live." That's what Harris always said when he fell off his broom. 

The first boy looked at his hands, then at Menteron. "You're bleeding all over." Menteron looked down at himself, noting the smudged blood where the Muggle had grabbed him. None of the cuts looked especially bad by itself, but as a set, they looked somewhat alarming. 

Menteron couldn't really judge time that well, but he knew he'd been in the trees for a long while. It took ages to walk down the drive, surely it must be even longer to cross the distance going from tree to tree. "If you were jumping trees for hours and hours, you'd be kinda cut up, too," he retorted. 

"Why were you jumping trees?" another of the boys asked curiously. 

Menteron shrugged. "It's fun." He considered the terrifying fall, then qualified, "As long as you catch the next tree." 

The boys seemed to accept this explanation. "What's your name?" 

"Menteron," he answered before he realized that giving them his name was definitely outside his father's edict of 'absolutely no contact with the Muggle neighbors'. 

"I'm Billy," the first boy introduced himself. "They're Greg and Davie. I live right across the street, do you live down there?" He pointed along the tree-lined drive. 

"Yeah," Menteron said, uneasily. 

"My brother said that place was haunted," one of the other boys, Greg, said with a shudder. 

"Tracy's not so bad," Menteron couldn't stop himself from defending the family ghost. "She never leaves the attic, and hardly makes any fuss." It didn't make sense for Greg to be afraid of her. She told pretty good stories, too. 

Billy raised his eyebrows. "Tracy?" he repeated, just a hint of nervousness betrayed in his tone. 

"The ghost. But how did you m- guys know about her?" He caught himself before saying 'muggles'. He felt quite proud of himself for that. 

The boys looked at each other, and in unspoken agreement, took a careful step away from the wizard boy. But they did not flee, and Greg answered the query carefully, "We didn't." 

"Oh." Menteron recognized that he must have said something unusual, though what it was he couldn't imagine. They were only talking about the ghost, and Greg had brought her up, hadn't he? 

Billy recognized the awkwardness, and tried to diffuse it. "You should get those cuts cleaned up. My house is closest." As an afterthought, he added, "Mum just made cookies, too." 

Menteron opened his mouth, but his brain didn't give his tongue an answer. He checked the sun. It wasn't setting yet, so his parents were still at work. But they would know if he went. He could end up right next to Clarence in leg-lock. And unlike his twin, he couldn't stay in one place for more than twenty minutes without going insane. 

But he _hurt_ and he was _sore_ and it was such a _long_ walk home and he wanted _cookies_. "Okay." 

Billy led the way to a two-story house that looked tiny in comparison to the Tragyls'. The driveway was short, covered in a dark grey stone that seemed like cobblestone, but smaller, and more closely fused. A blue one of those things, with wheels, that Muggles use to get places, sat on the driveway, next to the house. Menteron tried not to stare, focusing instead on the neatly cut grass and carefully tended flowers along the front of the building. 

Billy opened the door, already shouting, "Mummy! Mum!" A woman appeared at the top of a set of stairs. At her arrival, Billy lowered his voice, though not by a lot. "Menteron fell out of a tree, and now he's bleeding, and can we have cookies?" 

"Who is -" the woman began, then her gaze fell on the wizard boy. "My goodness, child! Look at you!" As instructed, he looked down at himself. Most of the cuts had stopped actively bleeding, but the blood was drying in dark, flaky clumps that looked more unpleasant than they felt. His legs and hands were stained brown from tree bark, and his shorts and shirt were torn in countless places. He knew he was a mess, and his mother would be embarrassed to know this was the first impression he was making on a stranger. That was, if she wasn't too furious about him visiting Muggle houses in the first place. 

The Muggle lady rushed down the stairs as if he were in imminent danger of death and only her intercession would save him. She herded up the stairs, into a small bathroom, and urged him into the tub. Briskly, she helped him remove socks and shoes, then wet a cloth in the sink. He suffered through a scrubbing that attacked his face, arms, hands, and legs. When she finshed, the previously light blue cloth had turned an ugly red-brown. As an encore, she picked several twigs from his hair. Throughout the entire production, she kept up a steady stream of commentary about dirt, trees, injuries, and boys that he tuned out as something his own mother had lectured him about zillions of times before now, usually under very similiar circumstances. 

Finally done, she brush dirt and dust off his clothes as best she could, instructed him to wash his hands, and led the way back down the stairs. The other boys had already raided the cookie jar, and a puddle of white liquid proved that they had even managed to pour their own milk. Billy's mum rolled her eyes at the mess, but poured another glass without stopping to chide her son. Menteron climbed into one of the seats at the kitchen table, next to Greg. She put the milk and a cookie on the place mat in front of him. He smiled brightly up at her, "Thank you, ma'am!" They were the first words he had spoken to her. 

She smiled back at him, her face softing out of the expression of concern she had maintained during the wash-up. "What's your name, sweetie?" 

He took a bite of the cookie. It was really good, better than anything Lulli made. He chewed and swallowed, knowing his mum would _really_ kill him if he talked to a stranger with his mouth full. "Menteron. The cookie is really really really good, ma'am. Really." His mum told him to always compliment peoples cooking because it made them feel happier. And he did, even at Gramma Weasley's, where he had to lie to do so. But Gramma always gave him extra ice cream for dessert for his effort. 

Billy's mum's smile brightened noticably. "Thank you, Menteron." She paused a moment before asking her next question, "Are you new in the neighborhood? Or visiting? I haven't heard of you before." 

Menteron took another bite of his cookie, buying time to compose a response. But Billy answered first, "He lives across the street." There was a peculiar emphasis on the last three words. 

She looked at Menteron sharply, surprise displacing the goodwill his compliment had gained. "The old Tragyl place?" 

Menteron swallowed the mouthful of cookie and took a gulp of milk. He looked back at her and nodded with trepidation. His parents said _never_ talk to the neighbors. His parents said muggles didn't like wizards. His parents said the neighbors thought there was something not-quite-right about the Tragyls. His parents said muggles didn't like things that weren't 'normal' for muggles. Jansten said muggles burned witches and wizards. His parents said to stay home where it was safe. 

The muggle woman didn't notice his growing terror, looking as she was out the kitchen window toward the locked, ornate wrought-iron gate that had only opened two or three times over the entirety of Menteron's life. With apperration licenses, his parents and the boys' tutors had little use for the muggle street, and floo powder was a much faster method for the brothers to use on the rare occassions that they left the house. "I didn't realize there were children living there," she commented, her voice still coloured by surprise. 

Menteron quashed his fears. Billy's mum made yummy cookies and lectured like his own mum, she wouldn't hurt him. He was being stupid and a sissy. "I got six brothers and a sister, too." 

Her wide eyes snapped quickly back in his direction. "Don't any of you go to school?" 

It sounded like an accusation, and he squirmed uneasily. "We got tutors." Best not to mention Harris and Hogwarts. "Well, 'cept Kib and Tryna cuz they're still babies." Kib was only two years younger than himself, but as far as Menteron was concerned, the difference was enormous. Valr once said that to avoid getting asked questions, the best defense was asking some of your own. Menteron tried that now. "What's school like?" he directed it halfway between Billy's mum and Billy. 

"It's okay," Billy said. "We just started today at Becket's Primary. What's tutors like?" 

"Bor-ring," Menteron answered with feeling. "I just started today, too. I wrote the alphabet a million zillion times, and then she wanted me to do it _again_ for homework. And my brothers were all still with _their_ tutors when I finished with mine, so that's when I started jumping trees along our drive." 

Billy's mum looked horrified by the last revelation. "You were _jumping_ out of trees?" Menteron cringed at her tone. Now that he thought about it, he figured his mum would react the same way if she found out what he'd been doing. "You could have been seriously hurt or killed!" He could imagine his mum saying that, too. "Wasn't there an adult watching you?" That would be where his mum's tirade would change. 

"My lessons were done, so my tutor left," he shrugged. "Mum and Father won't be back from work 'til dark. The other tutors were with their students. Lulli, our house el- er - maid, was watching Kib and Tryna." Score two for Menteron! He didn't say elf. He remembered in time that muggles didn't know about them. With only a small grin of triumph, he continued his original train of thought, "Usually, I'd'a just played in the sandbox with my twin, where Lulli could check in on us sometimes, but Clarence is kinda laid up today, so I had to play by myself." Best not to have them ask about Clarence. "What did you guys do at school?" he directed the question to the any of the three boys. 

The dark-haired boy introduced as Davie spoke for the first time, "We played." 

"Duck, duck, goose," expanded Greg, "Then the teacher read a story." 

"Then we had lunch, and after that we played with blocks and toys. Tomorrow, we're supposed to bring in something for show and tell," Billy finished. He looked at his mother. "Can I bring Ratso?" 

Billy's mum frowned, "I don't think the teacher wants you bringing in a pet, sweetie." 

"You got a pet?" Menteron asked, eagerly. 

Billy nodded, as excited about showing it off as Menteron was to see it. "Yeah! He's the bestest and biggest rat in England." 

Menteron remembered the big ugly rat that he had assisted the Weasley twins in ratnapping while he visited them two nights ago. "I'll give you bestest, but I bet a chocolate frog I've seen bigger." When Percy had discovered the crime, even Jansten couldn't have created a bigger scene. 

"What's a chocolate frog?" Billy asked. 

Menteron's eyes widened in sudden alarm. Mum was right, gambling was a dangerous habit. "Ii-iit's candy." If he lost, he'd have his parents disenchant it before giving it away. No. That would require admitting he was not only talking to Muggles, but making bets against them, too. That would _not_ go over well. Well, the frogs only had one good jump in them, anyway. He'd let it jump, then bring it to Billy. Minus the wizard card. 

Billy's mum frowned at her son, "You can show your friends the rat, but I will not permit you to accept the wager." 

Menteron shrugged at him, and rolled his eyes, affecting unconcern and sympathy for the parental interference. It covered his relief for the way out and embarrassment over his blunder. "My mum gets like that sometimes, too. Says gambling's 'not proper,'" he affected his mother's lecturing tone. He grinned the devilish grin that his family had long since learned to dread. "'Course, we do it so much she's mostly given up lately." 

Billy's mum frowned deeper, but she did not admonish a stranger's child. 

He finished the last of his cookie, and washed it down with the remainder of his milk. That was a mistake. It gave the muggle woman a chance to recover and pose another question. "Your family sounds like an interesting lot. We're holding a neighborhood barbeque this weekend. Why don't you all come down?" 

"No!" he exclaimed, without thinking. She blinked, taken aback. He blushed as bright as his hair. "We, we're not supposed to-" he felt his face flushing even darker, "that is, Father'll _kill_ me if he finds out I - you people are - I mean, we're supposed to keep to ourselves." It only took him four tries to express his difficulty without needing the word 'Muggles'. It belatedly occurred to him that he might have insulted them. "No offense meant, _I_ like you, but Father . . ." he trailed off, not really sure how to foist all the blame away from himself. By the softening of Billy's mum's hard expression, he guessed the incomplete sentence worked well enough. A good explanation finally occurred to him, and he threw it out, a bit desperately, "See, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." 

Billy's mum actually smiled in understanding. 

In his relief, Menteron added, "My twin was just grounded for running away last Saturday, so I really don't want them to know I left the property." Between the cookie and scrubbing, he realized he'd been away quite a while. "I should probably go home now. It'll take me til dark to walk back," he guessed. "The drive is really long." He honestly had no idea how long it would be before the sun set, or how long he'd need to make it back to the house, so he assumed the two would take equal amounts of time. 

"I'll walk you back," Billy's mum offered. 

"No! If anyone sees you . . ." his obvious fear clearly bothered her, and she reluctantly relented. That settled, he looked at Billy, "Can I see your rat, first?" 

Billy grinned, with just a trace of nervousness. "Yeah, c'mon." 

* * *

It was dark went he finally reached the house. The sun had set when he was about half way. His legs were tired, and the later it got, the more they dragged, both from dread and from exhaustion. He tried his best to open the front door silently and slip in without notice. But as he was easing it closed, a shout nearly scared him out of his skin, "Teron here!" 

In his startlemnt, he slammed the door closed with far more force than intented, and he twirled toward the speaker. It was little Kib, just entering the foyer from the kitchen. Though it was much too late, Menteron tried to gesture him into silence. No avail. More brothers appeared from other doorways and at the top of the stairs. "He's down here!" Jansten's voice floated to him from the second floor. 

Shortly, Jansten and his parents arrived at the stairs, joining Brent. Father hardly paused before he swept down the stairs. Mum was close on his heels. His two brothers only moved down a handful of steps, keeping their distance but securing a good vantage point. Valr, who had emerged from the parlor, moved to stand beside Kib. Clarence was no where in sight. Given his condition, that was not particularly surprising. Tryna and Lulli came out of the kitchen between Kib and Valr. Seven-year-old Valr looked very tall among that group. 

Father grabbed Menteron by his sleeve and more dragged than led his son into the parlor. Mum slid its door closed for the illusion of privacy, though he knew from experience that it would be no barrier for shouting or raised voices, both of which he expected from his parents. He was not disappointed. "Where have you been?" Father demanded loudly. 

"I was playing outside," he answered sullenly. "In the trees along the drive." 

Father was not impressed. "You know enough to be inside by dinnertime." 

"I tried!" he yelled back, angry that it was only timing that got him in trouble, "I was walking _forever_ getting back." 

Father's voice went low and dangerous, "You weren't near the gate, were you?" Too late, Menteron realized the implication of a long walk back to the house. 

Menteron didn't answer, and discovered an intense fascination by a small dust mote drifting across the hardwood floor. 

Mum frowned. "Menteron, look at me and tell me you weren't near the gate." 

He tried, but as soon as he locked eyes with her, he had to look away. Valr said the key to a good lie was eye contact, but he could never manage it. 

"Did any muggles see you?" demanded Father, correctly taking silence as guilt. 

They'd get the whole story eventually now. "Yes," he answered sullenly. Then, unable to hold back his discoveries, he added in a far more upbeat tone, "Billy invited me over to his house and we had cookies. Him and Greg and Davie talked about their school. It sounds loads more fun than a stuffy old tutor. Billy's even got a rat bigger than the Weasleys'. And Billy's mum is having a barbeque this weekend. We're invited, too, if we want to come." 

Mum just looked astonished, but Father's face purple in rage. The man stepped threateningly forward and Menteron briefly feared for his health and even his life. But Father only grabbed a handful of shirt, and yanked him toward the room's closed door. He slid it open with much greater force than necessary, and dragged Menteron toward the stairs. Brothers scattered out of his way, and Mum called "Waltr!" warningly, following close on their heels. 

Menteron jerked free and skittered several feet away before turning back to face his father, green eyes flashing with hostility. "Why can't we talk to Muggles?" he yelled. "They're nice! I was careful not to say anything about wizards!" They didn't need to know about the chocolate frog bet. That was an accident. "The only thing they thought weird about us was that we never leave the house, and that's _your_ fault not the wizardry! They didn't even ask how I hardly got hurt falling out of that tree, and that _was_ magic!" 

"You did magic in front of Muggles?!" Father exploded, not even recognizing that his son had proved he wasn't a squib or that he could have been seriously injured if he hadn't. 

"I did not!" Menteron screamed back, his face flushed red in anger. "That was before they got there! But even if they had been, I'd'a done it anyway!" Not that he had had _any_ control over it. The bouncy ground had just happened. 

"Don't you dare take that tone with me!" 

"Why not?" Defiance permeated the five year old's stance and voice. 

Father's scowl deepened, and his face darkened past red and into purple. "I am your father! You will show the proper respect!" 

"Menteron!" Mum's rebuke cut off his retort. The boy glanced around, swiftly. His brothers and sister hugged the walls and corners, making an obvious effort to stay out of the range of fire, without giving up the show. Lulli, hating conflict, had absented herself from the foyer, was no doubt now hiding under the kitchen sink, and trying not to hear. Mum stood a little off to one side, and halfway between the two combatants, as though acting as referee. 

Menteron looked back at his father, fists clenched at his sides, refusing to back down. "I want to go to Muggle school," he declared, surprising himself almost as much as his family. The words had come without thought or consideration, but the more he thought about it, the more he knew them for truth. That they were all but blasphemy in his father's opinion was just added bonus. 

"Out of the question!" Father roared. 

Menteron glared back, antagonism and stubbornness coloring the boy's words, "Then I won't learn to read!" He turned his back on Father and began walking toward the stairs. 

"Hold it right there, Menteron Arthur!" His mother's command froze the twin where he stood. "Turn around this instant!" He did so, chin jutted forward in mutinous determination. "Apologise to your father," she instructed in a no-nonsense voice. 

Menteron flicked his eyes toward his darkly flushed parent, then back to Mum. "No." 

The standoff lasted for several awkward moments that seemed to last a small eternity. "Go to your room," Mum finally ordered. "We'll be up in a minute." 

Menteron spun on his heel and resumed his previous course. He was on the third stair when she added, "The rest of you, too." He didn't need to look, to know his brothers scurried after him as though escaping an enraged dragon. He heard the parlor door slid closed again. A stolen glance showed his parents had left the foyer. As he swept his eyes over his siblings, only Jansten met his gaze. "And I thought _Clarence_ was in trouble," he commented ominously. 

Menteron kept walking, without comment. He tried to swallow his trepidation, but that only settled it into an unpleasant lump in his stomach. He knew he had gone too far. His father's creativity worried him. If his brother got leg-locked for harmlessly wandering away, what would be the punishment for associating with Muggles and defying his parents? 

He smiled nervously at Clarence as he closed the door to their room. His twin sat on his bed, legs straight out in front of him. The fire potions book sat in his lap, a finger saving his page, though, for once, the book seemed to be the last thing on Clarence's mind. "I heard shouting," he prompted for details. 

Menteron climbed onto his own twin bed, sitting cross-legged because he could. "I told Father I want to go to Muggle school." 

Clarence stared at him, stunned, for a very long time. When he did finally speak, Menteron could only gawk back at him, startled beyond reply. "Fantastic! When do we start?" 

* * *

Waltr heaved closed the sliding panel that served as the parlor door. "That insufferable child," he muttered in seething anger. 

"Try to calm down, Waltr, please," Keri almost begged. "I know Menteron tries your patience like none of the others, but we need to _rationally_ consider what kind of punishment he deserves." 

He scowled. "Petrifus totalis seems appropriate." He grumbled the words quietly enough that she knew he didn't seriously consider the full-body-bind curse as an option. 

"I did talk to his tutor this afternoon, just to see how he made out for his first day. She said he showed almost no interest in the lesson, fidgeted enough to make _her_ jumpy, and she spent more time telling him how long it would be until she left than she did teaching. She also hinted that with such a hostile student, it would be nice if we reconsidered her wage. He's Clarence's twin, he's got to be bright, but he has no drive to learn. I don't think any tutor will be able to fix that." 

Waltr frowned, clearly not liking the direction of conversation. "What are you suggesting?" 

"For all his bad grace in the way he asked, I think it would be in Menteron's best interest in the long run if we let him go to this Muggle school." 

"No! Absolutely not." 

"Waltr," she warned. "Consider it." 

He scowled at her. "Even ignoring that we should not bow to threats, no Tragyl goes to Muggle school." 

"Until now, no Tragyl had wanted to. The older boys are happy working individually with a tutor; they like the alone time away from their brothers. Menteron is almost never by himself. With Clarence, Valr, and Brent so far ahead of him, he won't catch up without effort. He refuses to try. So either we hold him back until Kib is ready to start reading, or we send him to a school. I don't want him any farther behind his twin than anybody else his age." 

"There are wizarding primary schools." 

"And how do they differ from Muggle ones?" 

"Muggles don't go there!" 

She sighed, unable to deny the point. Her own argument went both ways. There was nothing inferior about the wizarding primary schools. Quite the opposite. He could meet children who _could_ go on to Hogwarts with him, but at Muggle school, he would need to leave all his friends behind. Accidental magic would be understood, should it occur. Nobody would think it odd that he lacked basic knowledge of most Muggle customs. "Very well. Wizarding primary school then." 

"As far as punishment goes, I'm thinking silencio. All his transgressions were based on his tongue: speaking to Muggles, talking back." 

Keri realized she had made a serious error in judgement in letting Waltr use the leg-lock on Clarence. "No. We are not cursing more of our children." 

"Nobody said you had to." 

She frowned. "Waltr, I said no. No dessert for a week, and he's confined to his room." 

"That's hardly a punishment, Ker. Clarence is already all but confined to their room; Menteron would probalbly spend most of his time there anyway." 

"How do you expect him to go to school with no voice?" 

Waltr sighed as if making a huge concession. "We'll let him speak during school hours." 

Knowing it was a mistake, Keri nodded in resignation. "Very well, but let him choose his school - wizarding or Muggle." 

Waltr looked taken aback. His face darkened breifly, then returned to normal. "Fine." 

They left the parlor. None of the children were in sight. Probably all hiding after the confrontation. Menteron was the only with enough insane courage to face down Waltr in a bad mood. The two parents climbed the first set of stairs, and entered the twin's room. At their arrival, both boys looked quickly toward them, identical expressions of guilty innocence appearing on their faces. Keri wondered what they had been doing or talking about, but let it pass. 

She considered either sending Clarence away (a difficulty in his current state) or taking Menteron elsewhere, but decided it didn't matter. Menteron would relate a blow-by-blow description anyway. "Menteron, your father and I have reached a compromise. He will place a spell on you so that you cannot speak when you are home, for the next three days." Waltr shot her a look. No doubt he wanted it to last longer, but three days, even able to talk at school, would be torture for the younger boy. 

Menteron looked stricken. "I can't talk? For three whole days?" 

"Not whole days. The spell will be lifted while you are at school." 

Both boys looked delighted. "We get to go to school? For real? Muggle school?" Clarence exclaimed. 

Keri exchanged a startled look with Waltr. "Menteron gets to choose where. You want to go to?" 

"Well, yeah!" he answered as though she had asked if he had a head. 

Waltr looked seriously at the younger twin. "Clarence, you can already read better than Brent, and they don't teach potions at school until Hogwarts." Keri believed Waltr underestimated Clarence's reading level. He was easily at a higher level than 8-year-old Brent, and could probably best Harris or even Jansten. Though a year younger, Jansten had surpassed Harris in his studies two years previously. 

"Can't I go to school _and_ have a tutor for potions?" Clarence begged. "Please?" Menteron nodded his support imploringly. 

"I hate to split them up," Keri mused, as much to herself as to Waltr. 

"They won't even be in the same class, with Clarence so far advanced," Waltr pointed out. 

"I'll pretend to be dumb. Please?" Keri didn't think either twin realized Menteron had been snubbed, though, by the soft snort of laughter from Waltr, he must have caught the back-handed insult. 

Keri consulted her husband with a raised brow. He shrugged, and made a push-away gesture. _They're your twins, you decide,_ she interpreted. She frowned, willing him to understand her chastisement, _They're your twins, too._ He ignored the message, looking back at the boys. She surpressed a sigh and answered their breathless pleas. "Very well. You may both go." 

Clarence whooped like the five year old she often forgot he still was. Menteron bounced excitedly on his bed, equally exuberant. 

"Now, Menteron, you have an important decision in front of you," she said solemnly, knowing that would get them to calm down more than ordering him to do so would. Menteron stilled, and both twins quieted. "Wizarding primary school has many advantages over Muggle school, though you may choose either. With witches and wizards as your teachers and classmates, you won't need to worry about keeping magic related things secret, or not understanding Muggle things. Accidental magic will be decidedly less disasterous should it occur, and, finally, most of your friends will continue on with you to Hogwarts. At a muggle school, you would need to leave them all when you turn eleven." 

The twins looked at each other. She though she caught Clarence mouth the word 'Muggle'. She was glad to see that Menteron gave the decision serious consideration. After almost a full minute of thought, he looked back and forth between his parents. "We're going to Muggle school. Billy goes to Becket Primary. That's the one I want." 

Waltr frowned, but did not argue against it. Keri nodded. "Very well. I'll call the school first thing in the morning." She looked at Waltr. "Go ahead." 

She left the room quickly, but not fast enough to avoid hearing her husband's voice chase her down the stairs. "_Silencio_!" She leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes, trying not to feel guilty. She heard Waltr's step moving away, toward the stairs to the third floor. A moment after that, Clarence's words floated down to her, unconcerned, "It's kinda cool, ain't it? Your voice don't work and my legs don't."   
  
  


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	7. Snake's Clothing

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Six: Snake's Clothing 

Harris slept fitfully the night between the first and second day of classes. He had seriously considered going to Madam Pomfrey at the Hospital, but decided he'd have to sleep in his own bed eventually. That should have been enough bravery to satisfy even Walrus, but nightmares assailed him throughout the night, and twice he woke up, certain that Avery stood over him with a knife. But Avery had the poor grace to sleep the whole night without once making an attempt on Harris' life. That would have proved Harris' paranoia had basis in fact, at least. 

At three in the morning, Harris decided sleep was impossible. He got up, and quietly retreated to the common room. It was silent, dark, empty. Almost creepy, with the snake motif, and dungeon walls. His books were still in the girls' room, so he couldn't study. Sneaking out at this hour would be crazy, and, besides, he didn't have anywhere to go. 

Someone had left out some blank parchment, an inkwell, and a quill. He went over to them. _Anything left in the common room will be considered common property,_ the prefects had warned. That worked both ways, didn't it? He claimed the writing materials as his own, and began writing: _Dear Mum and Father and Everyone Else,  
Hogwarts is awful. I have Death Eater Jr. and his faithful sidekick Martin in my room and they hate me. I can't sleep. Evalyn, who I thought was okay, just told him last night that I'm not worthy of being called Slytherin. I met Charlie Weasley yesterday. He's a Gryffindor. We got along great. That is a very bad thing. Now the Gryffindors want to be my friends, and the Slytherins hate my guts. This would all be fine, even normal, IF I was a Gryffindor. I'm not._

Tonight, after detention, we heard Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor House talking to a Slytherin professor (Avery said it was probably Snape) about me. She wanted him to do something (we missed that part of the conversation), but he said no. Professor Wallsby, my Head of House, also said no. She might bring it to Dumbledore next. Snape and Wallsby hate me, too, I think.

I don't like it here. Can I come home? 

Miss you horribly,   
Harris

PS: If I die, Jansten can have my broom after he kills Avery to avenge me. Harris tapped the feather end of the quill briefly against the post script. There were any number of reasons he could die, aside from Avery murdering him, but he decided to leave it as it was. It would be far more preferable to take Avery with him than to have Jansten worry about whether he should kill Avery who deserved it, Charlie who didn't, or some random house elf who might have accidently missed a fish bone. Simpler this way all around. 

He folded the note and told himself he'd get up to the owlery to send it after Potions. He left the ink and quill for whoever came across it next. He found a copy of the first year potions text book under a couch cushion. It was a measure of how bored he was that he (a) found the book at all, and (b) started reading it. 

He was partway through chapter two when Evalyn came out of the girls' hall. Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Harris." 

Harris closed the potions book, folding over a page corner to hold his place, and put it down beside him. He did not answer. 

"Look, I'm sorry about last night," she said with a quick look toward the boys' hall. No doubt making sure Avery wasn't anywhere in earshot. 

Harris just looked at her. Forgiveness would not come easily. 

"He'd find out today anyway, Harris. He was actually speaking civilly to me again. I couldn't back down before because he'd see it as weakness. Look, I know he's a jerk, but there's no sense in feuding for seven years. My father told me to at least _try_ not to antagonize him too much. We're going to fight again, I can guarantee you that right now, but sacrificing you gives me _some_ credibility with him. I can't influence him if he automatically disregards everything I say." 

"I thought we were friends, Evalyn." He hoped that didn't sound as pathetic as it sounded. 

The pity in his eyes made his stomach churn. Her words could have been a physical blow. "Harris, you're not a Slytherin." 

Harris doubled over and squeezed his eyes closed. He would not cry. Slytherins don't cry. Tragyls don't cry. Crying was for babies. 

"Your best chance is to get brave, and beg Dumbledore for a reSorting." There was no quarter in her voice. 

By strength of will alone, Harris' eyes were still dry when he lifted his head toward her. "I will graduate Slytherin." Assuming he lived that long. Assuming he didn't drop out. But he didn't let these doubts enter his words. 

She looked at him for a long moment. "And that, Harris, is exactly why you shouldn't. Hopeless causes are for Gryffindors." 

Harris lowered his head again. His fists were clenched in anger, but his eyes leaked and dripped onto them. "I will graduate Slytherin," he repeated, in a whisper. His normal voice would have cracked. This time he didn't need to hide doubts. Even if it killed him a minute later, he would survive to that point. He'd see to that. He'd show her and he'd show Avery. Assuming _they_ survived to see it. The hat had told him he had ambition. Right now, it was focused on graduating and surviving in Slytherin House. 

He stood abruptly and stalked past her. Without a word, he used a candle to burn the note he had written to his family. Revision was neccessary. 

* * *

Harris was the last of the first years to arrive at breakfast. Evalyn had taken his seat across from Martin, leaving only the one opposite Avery open. So. Now he was leader of the opposition party. He had no followers, but it was good to know. He drew in a breath and took his seat. The only time he lifted his eyes from his fork was to accept a letter from Odyssius, the Tragyl family owl, when the mail came. 

The letter was just an account of Menteron's escapade with the Muggle neighbors, and the punishments both twins were now suffering for their crimes. Harris couldn't help but feel envious that his own troubles were not so easily resolved. He'd much prefer a few days in leg-lock over seven years trying to be something nobody believed he could be. The letter's post script was written so small he almost mistook it for a squiggly line. _If you get another chance, give Avery a right cross to the jaw for me. Don't tell Dad I said so. - Mum_

Mum's line buouyed his spirits until he saw the door to the potions classroom. 

Snape was no where in sight when he entered. As in McGonagall's class, the room was divided down the middle. Gryffindors sat on one side, Slytherins on the other. Harris gave a hard look to Evalyn and Avery (who were sitting together) that was pure bravado backed only by terror and uncertainty, then sat next to Charlie Weasley. He forced himself to smile a greeting. "Hello, Cousin." He was pretty sure the smile looked sickly. Charlie surely heard his voice shaking. The rest of him wasn't any more steady. Mum would have taken one look at him, put him in back in bed, and called in a mediwitch. 

Charlie looked surprised, but to his credit, his first reaction was to put a hand on Harris' back and ask, concerned, "Are you all right, coz?" 

It was almost more than he could stand. _Charlie_ wasn't supposed to be his friend. _Evalyn_ was supposed to be his friend. Harris curled forward, not crying, but dangerously close. He'd known Evalyn three days. What did it matter if she didn't like him as much as he thought she did. So what if all Slytherins despised him? They were all untrustworthy creeps anyway. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to control himself. 

Charlie, his hand still resting on his back, must have felt the near sob ripple under his fingers. The hand started to rub circles like his mum had done when he cried as a child. 

Before this could upset him more, the door swung open with a crash, and a dark being billowed down the central aisle, drawing every eye. Harris sat straight and Charlie pulled away abruptly, startled by the door's noise. When the black creature reached the front of the room, it swung around to face them, and stopped dramatically. Only then did Harris realize it was human with pale skin, a hooked nose, and a long, dark cloak that he drew around himself like a vampire. Long, black hair fell about his face, and when he spoke, Harris recognized the low voice from last night. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class." 

Dark, baleful eyes swept the room, freezing on Harris. Harris swallowed hard, and felt sweat prickle on his brow and under his robes. Charlie put a hand on his knee and squeezed comfortingly. Snape's speech faltered for a bare moment, then words and sweeping gaze picked up where they had left off. Harris was left with the distinct impression that Snape, too, found him unworthy of wearing green and silver. He was completely ignored throughout the rest of class, though he was the only one to raise his hand to answer the occassional question. Reading the text that morning might have paid off, had Snape acknowledged him. 

Instead, the professor called on Charlie, or Walrus, or one of the other Gryffindors, and took off points when they didn't know the answer. Towards the end of lecture, Harris had given up raising his hand. So he wrote it on a piece of paper, and passed it discretely to Charlie. Snape called on him, Charlie read the answer off the scrap. Snape swept toward them, his dark cloak billowing as he moved. He picked up the scrap before Charlie or Harris could hide it. 

Cold, dark eyes regard Harris, making him squirm. "Did you write this?" he asked, his quiet voice seemed more threatening for its lack of volume. 

Harris nodded, terrified. 

"Five points to Slytherin for a correct answer. Ten points from Gryffindor for cheating. Detention, Mr. Weasley." But his warning glare was leveled at Harris, not Charlie. Snape slowly crumpled the piece of parchment, his glare not wavering for a moment. Harris imagined him crushing recalcitrant students in much the same manner. The professor dropped the parchment ball on their desk, then abruptly whirled and returned to the front of the classroom. In some ways, he was even creepier than Aurora. Surprisingly, he did not once single her out. Pity, really. She probably knew the answers. Then again, that was probably why he didn't. 

When class finally let out, Harris escaped the room as eagerly as any Gryffindor. He walked with a group of five Gryffindors, half-pretending he belonged with them, half-humiliated by the looks Avery, Martin, and Evalyn sent his way. Charlie must have sensed his misery, because he wrapped an arm around him. Harris forced a smile, but his words were genuine. "Thanks, big brother." 

Charlie grinned, pleased, "No problem, kiddo." Then he turned serious. "What kind of crazy stunt was that, coz? Sitting with us in _Snape's_ class? You trying to get yourself banished from your own house?" 

Harris shook his head. "They can't banish me." 

"Shunned, then." 

"Too late. That happened last night. Might as well be guilty of what I'm getting punished for." 

Charlie pulled away to give him an odd look. "You have a very depressing view on life, coz. What are you guilty of?" 

He shugged as if what the other Slytherins thought of him didn't matter. "They think I'm a Gryffindor in snake's clothing." 

Charlie looked at him for what seemed a very long time. For once, Harris couldn't read his expression. "Well, that's not such a bad thing, is it?" Charlie finally asked. 

Harris looked at the floor. Charlie couldn't understand. His House liked him. His House was full of nice people. No stupid Hat had put him in with a lot of backstabbing jerks and told him these people were like him and they would be his friends and family for the next seven years. Someone he trusted hadn't decided that it would be in her best interest to throw him alone to the wolves in order to cultivate a temporary alliance with his worst enemy. Charlie was a mighty and brave Gryffindor, after all. He wouldn't need to live the rest of his life with people whispering behind his back, _I heard he was Sorted into Slytherin._ "I guess not," he mumbled in answer, unconvinced. In truth, very few things could be worse. Snake's clothing didn't fit Gryffindors. 

Charlie smiled at him encouragingly, "Don't worry, we'll win you over soon enough." The thought that they might succeed terrified him as much as his murderous Avery nightmares. Only his promise to Evalyn kept him from running up to the owlry and sending out a very short note: _Mum - Take me home. Right away. Now. Please. - Harris_

* * *

Keri entered the twin's room at quarter after ten Tuesday morning. Normally, she would have been at work for over an hour by now, but she had called in 'sick'. "_Finite incantium!_" she cast, even before the boys noticed her presence. Surprised, Clarence dropped his _Potente Potions_ book, and Menteron startled from where he sat on the floor, in the center of a circle of Every Flavor Beans. Keri wasn't sure she wanted to know what he was doing. 

"Hi!" Menteron greeted, then looked surprised. "Hey, my voice works again!" 

Experimentally, Clarence tried moving his legs. They lifted at the knees. The same look crossed his face. "Me too!" 

He climbed out of bed and fell almost immediately. Keri crossed to him in a split second, catching hold of him just barely in time to ease him to the ground more slowly. He shook his head, and looked around with comically wide eyes. "Whoa. Dizzy." 

"You haven't moved in over two days," Keri chided gently, "Take it easy." He nodded carefully, and she slowly helped him rise too his feet. Menteron watched anxiously, his Bean circle forgotten. 

"I called the school, and the Headmaster wants to meet you boys before you start tomorrow. A taxi will be here in a few minutes, so if you two are ready, we'll apperate down to the end of the drive an wait for it." 

"All set!" Menteron assured. 

She looked at them critcally, not willing to take an eager five year old's word for it. "Clarence, lose the robe. This is Muggle school you're going to." 

"Right," he agreed with a faint blush. He changed quickly, then stood next to his brother. They wore the same blue and red striped shirt and khaki pants. 

"Good enough," she passed their verdict, taking Menteron's hand in her left, wrapped her right arm around Clarence, and awkwardly flicked the wand in her right hand. "Apperate!" As the room shuddered around them and reformed into the tree-lined drive next to the iron-wrought gate, she reflected that Apperation was decidedly ill-suited for transport of more than two people. 

Both twins had Apperated properly beside her. The mere thought that they might not have riled her stomach to nausea. She pushed it away, and went to unlock the gate. "_Alohamora!_" The key had long since been lost. The three filed out and she fastened the gate closed behind them. The cab arrived not long after. "Becket Primary School," she told the driver. 

It was a nice looking building, with green lawn flanking the walkway to the front door. A sign just inside the lobby instructed vistors to go to the main office, and offered a bent arrow as directions. Keri led the twins that way to an open office door with black letters proclaiming it as the "MAIN OFFICE". Clarence read it aloud for his brother's benefit. 

A woman turned from a typewriter as they entered, and smiled at them. Keri felt mildly pleased with herself for recognizing the Muggle object. "Hello, welcome to Becket's," the woman greeted, "Are you the Tragyls?" 

"Yes," Keri nodded. 

She pointed to an adjoining office with a door labeled "HEADMASTER LEWIS", and said, "Go on in, you're expected." She lightly touched a strange device that looked only remotely like a telephone on her desk, then went back to the typewriter. 

The Headmaster's door opened a moment before they reached it and a man with salt-and-pepper hair smiled kindly at them. "Hello. Come in please." He offered the woman a polite nod, then ushered Keri and the twins inside. She wondered briefly how the man had know they were there without ward spells, then dismissed the thought as he offered her and the boys chairs. 

As he took his own seat behind a reasonably clean desk, he smiled at the twins assuringly. "Hello, boys. This is just a get-to-know each other kind of meeting. What are your names?" Keri had given that information and more over the phone - thank Merlin for Muggle Studies and a public one with instructions for Wizard use in Diagon Alley - so she guessed the question was more to put the boys at their ease. 

"Menteron," the elder twin said with a shyness that she never would have expected from him. 

"I'm Clarence, Headmaster Lewis." Equally unexpected, Clarence spoke with quiet confidence. She would have expected their reactions to have been reversed. 

The Headmaster raised surprised eyebrows. "And how did you know my name, Clarence?" 

By the expression on the younger twin's face, he could have asked how the boy knew the sky was blue. "Your door said so." 

Mild surprise turned to astonishment as he switched his gaze to Keri. "They read already?" 

"Clarence does." Menteron blushed faintly, suddenly ashamed of his lack. To make him feel a little better, she added, "Menteron can recite most of the alphabet." 

The Headmaster nodded slowly. "I see." Keri was impressed by his ability to move on with the interview instead of alienating Menteron by focusing on Clarence's extraordinary brilliance. "I understand you two were originally going to be taught by tutors. Why the change?" 

"Tutors are boring," Menteron explained with emphatic directness, at the same time that Clarence said, "I'm going have a tutor, too." 

Keri was pleased to see that the man understood both boys. She felt increasing comfortable with Menteron's choice of school. "Have you any questions for me?" 

They looked at each other, then back at him. Clarence was evidently chosen as spokestwin. "Just one. I'll be in Menteron's class, right? Even if I can read now?" 

The Headmaster hesitated. "You may find it too easy," he began tentatively, before Clarence interrupted. 

"That's ok. I want to be with Menteron." 

Keri smiled tightly, somewhat embarassed that her 'perfect' son had cut off a Headmaster. "He will be maintaining his tutor, Headmaster Lewis. He won't be held back by staying with Menteron. If it isn't too much trouble, I could have Ms. Flannigan come to coordinate lessons so that she won't cover the same material. I'd like to avoid splitting them up if possible." 

Headmaster Lewis considered the suggestion and nodded. "That sounds reasonable." 

The relief of the boys was not at all discrete. "Yes!" they exclaimed together, jumping to their feet, and clapped their hands together in a double high five. Keri sighed quietly. So much for the 'proper manners' she had tried to teach them. The Headmaster smiled indulgently, and touched a button on a device that looked the little brother to one on the secretary's desk. After a moment, the woman opened the door. 

"Kindly take the boys to Madam Baker," he instructed her, "Mrs. Tragyl, if you would stay for a moment. Madam Baker is the First Years' teacher. She likes to meet new pupils before they begin." The explanation seemed as much for the benefit of the boys as for her. They followed the secretary from the office, the door closing behind them. Keri felt a sudden fear as her little boys were lost to sight. 

It was silly. She worked four days a week, in twelve hour shifts. This was hardly the first time they were seperated from her. The only difference was that now they wouldn't be safe at home, but out in the Muggle world. Wizardborn purebloods, who had never taken Muggle Studies, were going to a Muggle primary school. 

The Headmaster cleared his throat, and she got the distinct impression it was not the first time he had tried to gain her attention. Seeing he finally had it, he smiled sympathetically. "They are your oldests?" 

She shook her head. "No. Harris just began secondary school. But they are the first not to be home tutored until they turn eleven. Harris I know can take care of himself, but," she looked back at the closed door. She sighed again. "Clarence is brilliant, but neither of them yet know the meaning of the phrase 'too dangerous'." She offered him a weak smile, and a piece of evidence to prove her point. "Menteron fell out of a tree just yesterday." She decided he really didn't want to know about Clarence's misadventure. 

"They will be supervised at all times, Mrs. Tragyl," he assured her. "Madam Baker is currently assessing them to make sure they are comfortable being away from their parents, but they seem to be a well-adjusted pair, if somewhat dependant upon one another." 

"'Dependant' isn't exactly accurate, Headmaster. They are close friends as well as identical twins. Given a choice, I'd like to be in the same class as my best friend rather than a different one, too." A memory of Betty Merriweather tried to rise, but she surpressed it with the ease of practice. Now was not the time. 

"Point taken." There was a brief pause. "Does Menteron resent the fact that his brother can read, but he can't?" 

Keri shook her head. "Only insomuch as it interferes with playtime. Clarence spends a lot of time reading; time that Menteron would rather he spend in the sandbox with him. I'm sure Menteron is smart, but he is completely unmotivated. After only one lesson, yesterday, his tutor was ready to scream with frustration. On the completely opposite end of the spectrum, Clarence will read and absorb everything he can get his hands on, including books _I_ would have difficulty getting through. I don't know how much he understands of it, but he can remember it." _Hogwarts, A History_ was as dry a book as she had ever run across. The first few chapters were fine: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff were extraordinary people. But then it degenerated into an Architectural treatise, followed by endless biographies and accounts of every last Headmaster and most of the teachers the school had ever employed. 

The Headmaster of Muggle Becket's Primary School made a thoughful sound. "Clarence will find what we teach Menteron's class far too easy." 

Keri smiled faintly. "I mean no disrespect to you or your school, but Clarence is viewing the whole thing as a kind of fun playgroup. Anything he learns will be incidental. He's been tutored for over two years already, that's what he considers education." At the slight frown forming on the man's face she quickly added, "It's not that he won't take things here seriously. I assure you, Clarence will be an excellent student, he's almost incapable of not being one. He just thinks that," she struggled to put her thoughts into words. Clarence had put it best, so she paraphrased him, changing her voice to a imitative higher pitch, "a _real_ school with _real_ other students and _everything_ will be, like, _cool_, ya'know?" 

She had managed to stun him. The Headmaster looked at her dumbly for a moment, then he began to laugh quietly. She wasn't sure if the reaction was in response to the image of a classy Slytherin wife (wearing a severe floor-length dress and a tight bun in her dark auborn hair, no less) speaking like a five year old or the thought of his respectable school being described so gracelessly. Of course, he wouldn't know what a Slytherin was if it bit him with venomed fangs, but old-blooded aristocratic arrogance was certainly not limited to the wizarding world. 

The laugh was still in the Headmaster's eyes as he extended a hand toward her again. "I look forward to their start tomorrow. Term began yesterday, as you know, so they will be a little behind." They shook, and she left the Headmaster's office. The secretary had several forms for her to fill and sign while she awaited the return of her boys. 

It was on the fourth form that she discovered something to give her pause. She looked up suddenly, "Religious education is required?" She feared the trepidation was obvious in her voice. What little she knew of Muggle religion was that it justified burning witches. 

The secretary blinked. "You may exempt them, if you wish," though her dubious tone suggested doing so would be unusual if not suspicious. For the first time, she wondered if maybe Waltr was right about the dangers of Muggle school. Eccentricities like calling classmates 'muggles' or not knowing what a 'television' is could be explained by their 'odd' parents and upbringing. Accidental magic wouldn't neccessarily be linked to the twins, and muggles had a tendancy to rationalize inexplicable events. Self-delusion was a wonderful thing. But religion? How would the twins respond to the 'kill witches' tenets? Clarence would certainly know all about the medieval witch hunts. She believed she caught him setting up a game in the sandbox to mimic it, so Menteron probably knew as well. 

"Mrs. Tragyl?" Keri blinked and looked at the secretary, hoping nothing of her thoughts showed on her face. Acting and deception had never been her strong points, though. The muggle woman looked mildly worried. 

"Yes?" 

"Is something wrong?" There was something strangely familiar about the words, as though this was not the first time the woman had asked her this. 

"No," _yes_, "Everything's fine." _My babies are just going to muggle school where they'll be taught that they and everyone in their world are evil._

The twins returned, thankfully interrupting the conversation. "Clarence," she called the younger twin to her side, with a shaky smile. She pointed to the offending line on the form. "Would you boys like to be excused from religion class?" Ultimately it was children who would need to live with the decision - be suspected for not attending or remaining silent when witchcraft was mentioned. 

A woman had entered the office behind the twins, and she raised her brows at the question. "You are not Christian?" she asked, a small note of curiousity in her voice. 

"We just don't go to Church, Madam Baker," Clarence answered. Keri wasn't sure whether she should be proud that he understood the delicacy of the situation or worried that he could be so subtly misleading. Madam Baker's expression chaged to one of mild disapproval, directed mostly against Keri. 

Clarence waved over his twin and the spoke in quiet whispers, Menteron occassionally shaking his head, Clarence giving his brother the occassional begging look. After the third of these, Menteron crossed him arms, shook his head forcefully, and said loudly, "I said, no! You're the Ravenclaw, not me!" 

Clarence looked disappointed, but he nodded acceptance of his brother's decision. He looked up to his mother, "Menteron says he wants to not go, but I _do_. It'd be neat to know what they say." At Keri's worried look, he added, "I promise I'll be careful. Please?" 

Keri sighed, fearing that their cover of being non-practicing members of the Church of England was already blown. But she nodded. "Very well." 

"Wicked!" he exclaimed happily. Keri winced, wishing he had chosen any other expression this one time. 

* * *

Headmaster Lewis was filling out admittance forms for Menteron and Clarence Tragyl, when the door to his office opened and Madam Baker entered. He smiled up at her. "Hello, Michelle." Something in her expression made him add, "Anything wrong?" 

She took the chair Mrs. Tragyl had occupied not long before. "Nothing specific," she denied. She shook her head to clear it, and he saw her visibly pull herself into professional mode. "I spoke to the twins, individually and together, as you suggested." Lewis made an encouraging sound. "They're both charming little boys. Friendly, intelligent. I don't believe either will have a terribly difficult time adjusting to being away from home." She hesitated, then continued, "They've been fairly isolated though, so there will be some adjustment neccessary. I understand that today was only the third time they've left their house, and the only people who visit are their grandparents, occassionally. Menteron once spent the night with some distant cousins, and briefly met some neighborhood children yesterday, which, incidently, prompted the family's sudden interest in Becket's, but Clarence has virtually met no one his age outside of his siblings." 

By his own interview with the pair, Clarence had struck him as the more social of the two. But perhaps that was simply because Lewis was an adult. Mrs. Tragyl may have been more correct in wanting him to stay with others his own age than she realized. He nodded his understanding to Michelle, and she continued her assessment, "Neither strikes me as the dominant twin. Menteron seemed to defer to Clarence when speaking to me, but when their mother asked Clarence a question that affected both of them, Clarence did talk to his brother before answering, with a different answer for each of them." 

Lewis lifted a brow, and she obliged by explaining the situation. "Apparently the Tragyls do not regularly attend religious services. Mrs. Tragyl asked Clarence if they wished to be excused. The twins spoke - argued, actually. Menteron wanted to avoid them, Clarence wanted to go. From what I understood of their discussion, Clarence was trying to convince Menteron to come with him. Menteron said," she paused, trying to remember, "that Clarence was the Ravenfoot, whatever that is. Clarence then told their mother that he wanted to go, but Menteron didn't. Something weird about that." 

"Oh?" Lewis prompted. 

"Mrs. Tragyl obviously didn't want him to go. I'd even say the idea scared her. But she did agree when Clarence promised that he'd be careful. What's there to be careful about in religion class? That wasn't the first thing that struck me as odd about them, either. There were a number of times when I caught the boys revising what they were about to say, as though they had almost spilled some secret. Menteron once used a foreign word I didn't recognize, and Clarence hissed at him as though he had made some awful faux pas." 

Lewis nodded thoughtfully. "Their father may simply not be British. Perhaps they follow his religion, but since England is predominately Christian, they choose not to advertise their beliefs." 

Michelle considered the possiblity, then nodded. "That would explain most of the other peculiarities as well. Simple cultural differences." Now that the cause of the 'oddities' had been identified, Lewis felt certain his teachers would extend the utmost consideration and support to the children. He would speak with the gym, religion, music, and art teachers to inform them of the twins' special needs. 

Speaking of special needs: "You know Clarence can read, right, Michelle?" he asked as she prepared to leave. 

She looked at him in surprise. "He can?" 

"Very well, according to his mother. Most of what we should be teaching him, he already knows. I understand Becket's is something of an educational experience for him rather than an education." 

Michelle mulled over that for a moment. "Well, at least I'll have interesting times." 

"I think that's a chinese curse, Michelle." 

She smiled at him. "I know it is." 

* * *

Valr was waiting in the foyer when Keri and the twins returned to the Targyl Residence. She had spent most of the afternoon in Diagon Alley trying to find their supplies for tomorrow. Of course, a lot of the required items were Muggle-made, and near impossible to find. Who would have believed a #2 pencil was a kind of writing implement? What was wrong with quill and ink? She'd eventually broken down and risked entering a Muggle 'department store' to ask after some things. The clerks had looked at her strangely a few times, but had, overall, been very helpful. 

"Owl came," Valr said shortly, and handed her a note. By the serious look on his face, she knew he had already read it, and it was bad news. She opened it, trepidation making her hands shake slightly. Harris' handwriting. What could Harris have said to make Valr so solemn? _ Mum, Dad, Others  
I got your letter this morning. Tell the twins I said they're getting it easy. You asked how I liked school. I don't. Both Slytherins and Gryffindors think the Hat made a mistake with me. Someone should tell the Daily Prophet that they agree on something. I might not be a normal Slytherin, but I'm not a Gryffindor either. I wish I was a Hufflepuff. Then I wouldn't have to deal with Avery or Evalyn or Charlie Weasley. Well, maybe Charlie. But he wouldn't be so determined to 'turn me from the dark side' as Walrus puts it. We'd just be second cousins, like we're supposed to be._

Between them, Evalyn and Avery turned 'the dark side' from me, if we define 'the dark side' as 'Slytherins'. I might wear the Slytherin uniform, but I'm not one anymore, as far as they're concerned. Even the Slytherin potions professor ignores me. But I'll show them, and I'll show him, too. I'm going to be the best potions student he'll ever see until he meets Clarence. And I'm going to beat this school. I'm going to graduate. And I won't ask for a reSorting. They can't make me not a Slytherin just because they'd rather not have me.

So that's my life. Charlie says it's depressing. I think it's terrifying and stressful. Tell Jansten to forget Slytherin House. It's not worth it. If he really wants to know about dark wizards, I'll tell him about my roommates myself, in detail.

Miss you horribly,  
Harris   
  
  


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	8. The Eggmen

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Seven: The Eggmen 

"Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall's voice rang out across the Gryffindor common room. Two boys jumped to their feet. Looks of such blamelessness could only indicate wrongdoing, but she had neither the time nor inclination to root out the source. "Charlie," she clarified. Bill looked relieved and sat down again. "Come with me." 

By the look of doom on his face, Charlie must have thought he was being led to the gallows. When he caught up with her, just outside the Fat Lady's portrait, he said urgently, "I didn't cheat in Potions, honest. He was going to take off points if I didn't know the answer, so when someone told me what it was, I used it. It wasn't even a test." 

She regarded him sternly. "That is a lesser form of cheating, Mr. Weasley. Your detention is justified. I expect you not to repeat it." 

He nodded quickly. "I won't," he promised earnestly. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, Charlie half-running to keep up with her swift stride. She slowed a little. It wouldn't do to turn him over to Filch while out of breath. "Professor?" the boy asked tentatively once it became obvious her lecture was over. 

"Yes?" 

"Is it against rules to bring a Slytherin into the Gryffindor dormitory?" 

Now that was an interesting question. "Traditionally, it is something not done," she answered carefully. "There has been little desire to change that." 

"I want to." Such a simple statement to overthrow centuries of predjudice and rivalry. 

"Oh?" she prompted archly. Surely the Tragyl boy had not become openly friendly with her Gryffindors. He must have some sense of self-preservation. 

"Harris is my cousin and my friend. He just happens to wear silver and green." 

Eons of hatred and distrust, fundamental differences in temperment and attitude, habitual and ingrained enemity, all trivialized to a pair of colors. Charlie Weasley was a gem. "Mr. Tragyl would be wise to pursue this friendship with discretion. For his own safety." 

Charlie looked stricken. "Is he not safe? Can we put in another bed in our dorm room? I'm going to give him the Fat Lady's password. We need to get him out of there." 

McGonagall regretted her words, but Charlie's urgency gave her new cause to worry. Something new must have developed. "Provided he doesn't pick any more fights, he should be safe," she assured him, but could help asking, "Has he given you any indication otherwise?" 

Charlie looked around the deserted hallway quickly, and lowered his voice, "You didn't hear this from me, but he almost cried before potions this morning. He keeps reminding me of Ginny during a thunderstorm. Scared, you know? And each time I see him, it's worse. He was shunned, you know." Charlie shuddered. "He sat with us during potions." 

McGonagall barely resisted the inclination to gape. She couldn't stop her eyes from widening. "Mr. Tragyl sat with the Gryffindors during Professor _Snape_'s class? No wonder we lost sixty points in one period. I _knew_ that was a bit high, even for Severus." She had thought it was petty revenge for her attempted interference the previous night. But Charlie's words were the key to deciphering Severus' irritation and baleful glares toward the both the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables during lunch and dinner. 

The low words spoken to Wallsby, and the cold looks both Slytherin professors sent toward the group of Slytherin first-years leaving the Great Hall, suddenly took on a sinister light. The child would likely get no protection from his Head of House. Should anything short of death happen to him in the Slytherin dormitory, no punishments would be enforced. She had seen it happen before. 

_I will not and cannot go over Wallsby's head . . . if you insist on forcing the issue, talk to the Headmaster._ Had that been a dodge to get out of responisbility, or a serious piece of advice? It seemed almost too obvious to be anything but the former. But the more she considered it, the more she realized that Severus did not make idle remarks. Besides, what harm could it do to try? 

"Professor?" 

"What is it, Mr. Weasley?" she asked kindly. The boy would be her best source of information on the Harris Tragyl situation. 

"Should I tell him not to sit with us?" he asked uncertainly. He looked up at her with troubled green eyes. "He needs friends, but he wouldn't want to cost us points." 

She smiled at him. This dilemmna, at least, she could address. "Which is more important, Mr. Weasley? A friend or a few points?" 

He looked relieved. "The friend," he answered with confidence and a broad smile. Molly and Arthur had every reason to be proud of their son. McGonagall felt proud enough of him that she felt guilty turning him over to Filch now. But they had reached the caretaker's office, and the boy did have detention. 

Harris Tragyl, Weston Avery, and Martin Lodge were already there. Harris immediately went to Charlie's side, darting fearful looks back at his Housemates as he did so. The boy looked so vulnerable that McGonagall's instincts screamed at her to wrap the poor child into an embrace and assure him she'd make every better. Only an iron will and Charlie's warm "Hi, coz!" and hug kept her in place. Over Harris' shoulder, Charlie looked at her without apology and without quarter. Though he made no attempt to communicate with her, his message was clear as crystal. _Help me help him. I can't do this alone._

Then Charlie's face was a cheerful mask as it came into Harris' view again. "Hey, coz, guess what?" 

Harris cracked a smile that McGonagall could only guess was genuine. Surely, if he was faking, it would be more believable. "What?" 

"You gotta guess. That's what 'guess what?' means." 

Something of the smile touched Harris' eyes, McGonagall was glad see. "I did guess. I guessed 'what', just like you told me to do." 

Charlie laughed, a strange sound to hear in Filch's office. "Okay, you win." 

"So, what?" Harris asked. 

Charlie lifted his eyebrows, "So what what?" 

"You said 'guess what?' What was I supposed to guess, besides 'what'?" 

"Oh, right! My brother, Bill, is trying out for the Quiddich team this Saturday. Wanna watch? He's only a second year so he prolly won't make it, but we can cheer him on anyway, right?" 

Harris nodded, not quite enthusiastically, but he didn't seem to dislike the idea either. "Right." He shot a nervous look at Avery and Lodge, but he surprised her by raising his voice instead of lowering it, "You never know, Bill _could_ make your House team. Specially with _family_" another frightened look at Avery and Lodge, though the word was the loudest he had spoken, "there to celebrate his victory or tease him mercilessly if he doesn't make it." McGonagall realized with a start that the boy was grinning with real excitement at this idea. She revised her opinion of the meaning behind the looks at the Slytherins. He wasn't intentionally rubbing their faces in his change of loyalty. He was drowning out his own doubts. 

Charlie returned the grin, something of her own surprise reflected in his expression. "Wouldn't miss it." 

Now ignoring the Slytherins, he added, "Pity my brothers can't make it. Valr could come up with some really great catcalls if your brother did something dumb." 

Charlie smirked. "That's nothing to what the twins could come up with." 

"Your twins or mine?" 

McGonagall closed her eyes. She'd already had a taste of Harris' twin brothers, and a very disturbing rumour was already starting to reach the Hogwarts faculty about the Weasley twins. At least Clarence was definitely a Ravenclaw. The other three were only _probably_ going to be hers. 

Filch arrived with brooms, buckets, and Mrs. Norris. He pushed the supplies into the Harris' hands. The boy had the misfortune to be standing nearest the door. "This way," Filch sneered, and the four first-years followed him down the hall. McGonagall stood where she was, for a moment. Then she directed her steps toward the Headmaster's office. 

"Pineapple Pops," she told the guardian to Dumbledore's inner sanctum. It stepped aside, and she climbed the stairs to his office. "Albus?" she said by way of greeting. 

The Headmaster turned away from Fawkes, and smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Minerva." 

Uncertain how to broach the subject, she said only, "Harris Tragyl." 

Albus sat in behind his desk a bit more heavily than normal. "Take a seat, Minerva," he invited, a touch tired she thought. She did as instructed. 

"I just spoke with Charlie Weasley. Harris is not doing well in Slytherin. He's been in several fights, and has already been shunned. Albus, the poor boy is terrified of his own roommates. It can't be healthy." 

Albus picked up a piece of paper and handed it to her. "I just got this from Keri Tragyl. It's the last note she got from Harris. She doesn't know what to do. Pull him out, keep him here, or transfer him to Beauxbatons." McGonagall read the note with dismay. Then she read it again. 

"Can we put him in Hufflepuff?" She pointed at the first paragraph. "He says that's where he wishes he was." 

Albus shook his head. "He wishes he was Sorted there originally. Getting put there now would be admitting defeat. Unless and until he wants to leave, I cannot move him. Despite all that has happened, _he_ still believes he was correctly Sorted. I have enough faith in the Hat, that I am loathe to disagree with him. He was raised by both a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, Minerva. He will have traits of each. All of the Tragyls will." 

McGonagall surpressed a shudder. Eight children of mixed Gryffindor/Slytherin heritage. "How did Keri and Waltr meet?" she asked, her voice skirting the edge of lamentation. 

Albus smiled consolingly. "I am sure it is a fascinating story, but, sadly, I haven't the details." 

It had been a rhetorical question, but she still felt somewhat disappointed that he couldn't tell her. She shrugged it off. "Can't we do _anything_ for Harris now? Charlie suggested giving him an alternative bed in the Gryffindor dormitory." 

The Headmaster nodded slowly. "That can be arranged for him. I expect he won't make use of it immediately, but the important thing is that the option exists, so he knows there is somewhere he can go to be safe and welcome. Beyond that, there is very little we can do but be available to him as much as possible, and be ready to pick up the pieces if neccessary." 

* * *

First year Slytherins had only one class on their third day. Flying, with Gryffindor. Harris arrived with his Housemates, but didn't hesitate to leave them to stand with the Gryffindors. They stood opposite each other, eleven versus five, with a ratty old broom next to each student. The Cleansweep 4 in his parents' shed would blow these out of the water. He told as much to Charlie. 

His cousin smiled self-consciously, "I wish the one we had at home was half as good as this," he nudged the wreck of a broom laying on the ground next to him. Harris tried to hide a small smile, knowing what he'd get his cousin for Christmas. One of the new Cleansweep 5's that just came out had Charlie's name all over it. If Bill made the Gryffindor team, it would probably be a good gift for him, too. 

The lesson itself was ridiculously easy. Just "up" and hover a bit. He'd never tried calling a broom to his hand by just saying "up!" but he got it on the second attempt. By comparison to the rest of the class, this was quite impressive. The hovering part, Harris was sure, even Menteron could handle. Many of the class, though, had apparently never seen a broom before, and couldn't even get this right. The problem was not entirely limited to muggleborn Gryffindors. Madeline couldn't get off the ground, either. 

Candice, who, by her mother's diary, had tried flying before, hadn't learned much control since the window incident Evalyn had read about. Her hover more resembled a zigzagging foward and back shuffle. That she stayed over the same six foot square box, at varying heights, was about the best one could say about her 'hover'. She was not the only one with that problem, either. 

Charlie, Avery, Aurora, and himself were the only ones who had the hover down solid. Martin jerked around a bit, and complained about the poor quality of his broom. Evalyn did about as well as Martin, perhaps a touch better. She choose to put her effort into controlling her broom rather than complaining about it. Charlie, perhaps wisely, choose not to comment about the relative superiority of the school brooms to the one he had previously used. Though, to be honest, Harris couldn't imagine how it _could_ be worse and still be able to fly. 

The lesson ended without serious mishap, despite a collision between Walrus and Brian Baxter. Harris guessed Brian had _some_ broom experience because only a quick recovery on his part kept the incident from becoming a domino effect down the entire Gryffindor line. Harris had him pegged as a future Chaser, or perhaps Beater, for his House team. Charlie, too, was an easy choice for their Quiddich team. If Bill could fly half as well as his little brother could, he was a shoo-in at try-outs this Saturday. 

Among the Slytherins, Avery would surely be choosen. With luck, Harris hoped to be a Chaser himself, though if try-outs were based on anything besides skill, he doubted he'd make it. He'd just have to show them he was just so good that they'd be stupid to turn him away. Maybe he could even get Charlie to circulate a rumour that if the Slytherins didn't take him, Gryffindor would. 

Valr was very enthusiastic about taking advantage of the 'I'd rather have it myself than let you have it' philosophy and had somehow gotten Harris to give him all his good flavored Every Flavor Beans for Valr's bad flavored ones using that technique. Something about prank prevention. In an effort to boost his self esteem, Harris tried not to remember the details of the deal. He'd have to ask the brat for pointers over Christmas break. It would probably cost him all his stocking candy and maybe a few hours on his broom. But if it got him on the Slytherin Quiddich team, it would be worth it. 

But all that was a year away. The first flying lesson came to an end, and they followed Madam Hooch from the field, carrying the school brooms back to their storage room. Harris left with Charlie, who waved for his friends to go on without him. A tightness balled in Harris' stomach. If he wanted them to leave, it could only mean one of two things, both bad. He could want to keep the Gryffindors from Harris which would mean two of four Houses hated him now. Or he could want a heart-to-heart talk. Of the two, he almost prefered the former. 

"Harris," Charlie said seriously when they were alone. "Professor McGonagall wanted me to tell you a couple things." 

Harris closed his eyes briefly. It was worse than he feared. "Yeah?" he prompted, hoping to get it over with quickly. 

Charlie no doubt heard the dread. He smiled reassuringly. Harris was not noticably reassured. "First, she says that if you ever need to talk to anybody about anything, she'd be glad to listen. I would, too, by the way. She also says if you don't want to talk to her, Headmaster Dumbledore's door is always open, too." 

The Headmaster was in on this, too? Harris scowled, not at Charlie, just a general one. No sense in blaming the messanger. "You can tell her that I can take care of myself," he said stiffly. 

Charlie gave him a look that plainly revealed his doubt. Harris hid both offense and fear. Charlie didn't believe he could handle this. Just as clearly, neither did McGonagall or Dumbledore, else they wouldn't have had Charlie talk to him. With so many people betting against him, should he really think he had a chance? 

_Ambitious, yes. Very like your father. One place for that: SLYTHERIN!_ the Hat had said, wasting little time with its decision. It had been almost as fast with him as it had been with Avery, faster than for either Evalyn or Martin. Slytherin was his House. Just like Father. Waltr Tragyl was the enigma of his Slytherin class, too. Married a Gryffindor, even. Grandmother Tragyl complained about it enough. Grandfather had been even more blunt, before he was sent away. Neither had particularly cared if Harris or his brothers heard. 

_Pity your brother wasn't the oldest, he's a proper Tragyl. . . . Honestly, Waltr, I think you spent too much time with that Gryffindor creature you married. . . . One more Gryffindor stunt like that, Waltr, and I swear you will be living like that Weasel family you married into! Do you hear me, boy? You don't deserve to be called my son! Disownment. You know what that means, right? You and that rabbit's nest of yours will be penniless!_

Harris had never met his cousins on the Tragyl side. Uncle Sividious had feared 'contamination'. So, really, this was nothing new. Even Mum's side hadn't exactly gone out of their way to keep in touch. They just weren't as vocal about their shunning. Sividious never let Father forget that he and his tainted brood were not good enough for Sividious' children. 

On Mum's side, invitations just got 'lost' or 'forgotten' and they were 'so sorry' and they'd 'surely send the invite next time'. On Tragyl birthdays, there were always excuses, 'the kids have a game that day' or 'we're on vacation that week'. Father had argued that last one, 'They can barely feed themselves, where can the be vacationing? In the next gutter over?' Mum had shushed him and send the owl back, telling them to have fun. After a while, Harris' parents had given up inviting any relatives besides grandparents. 

"I can take care of myself," Harris repeated, with more confidence. Father didn't shrink from the treatment. True, he did mutter a bit about Mum's side not being nearly as brave as Gryffindors should be, that they should just out and say they'd rather not have any dealings with the Tragyls, but he didn't seem to mind that his family was essentially isolated from the outside world; both Wizarding and Muggle. Ever since the Merriweathers died, only tutors and grandparents ever visited, and the Tragyls themselves almost never left their residence. So, like with Sividious, now he just had to listen to the Wizarding World ignore him. 

"Of course you can," Charlie said, making a valiant effort to sound supportive and convinced. Like Father, Harris wasn't entirely alone. Father had Mum, and Harris, and Jansten, and the other siblings. Harris had Charlie, and whichever other Gryffindors were willing to overlook the fact that he was Slytherin. That seemed to be a surprising majority. 

Plus McGonagall and Dumbledore in their own weird way. "The other thing she wanted me to tell you was that they're putting in another bed in my dorm. You can use it, if you want." As if afraid he might refuse, Charlie continued in a rush, "She said you might say no, but that I should tell you that she's not trying to make you a Gryffindor. Slytherin is your House unless and until you decide you want to get reSorted." The sing-song quality to his voice told Harris he was quoting, or at least paraphrasing. Charlie grinned suddenly. "It was up when we got back from breakfast. The sheets and drapes and everything they made it up with were even green and silver. Oh, yeah, the password to Gryffindor's dormitory is 'Hog's Head'. You go up the South Tower to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She's our guardian and password taker." 

A Fat Lady guardian? Slytherin just had a blank wall. Wait. A Gryffindor had just entrusted a Slytherin with the Gryffindor entrance point and password? Harris stared at his cousin. "Professor McGonagal - your Head of House - told you to tell me that?" 

Charlie grinned. "She even brought the green and silver bedsheets herself." 

Harris was torn. On one side, he was elated. A safe place. He wouldn't have to fake or self-inflict or provoke Avery to give him an injury to get to the Hospital Wing when the Slytherin dormitory got too much. On a second side, he was affronted. A Slytherin shouldn't have to depend on the generosity of others, particularly Gryffindors. How dare McGonagall offer him everything he wanted as charity? He was practically honor-bound to refuse. On the last side, he was terrified. Even the teachers of the enemy House thought he needed a safe place enough to grant him one in her own House. His assessment of the risk he was taking was underestimated, if anything. It would be folly to turn it down. Harris prided himself on not being a fool. 

Harris looked down at the floor. "Thank you," he mumbled. Slytherins were never that big on honor anyway. 

"It'll be wicked, having you in our dorm," Charlie added, sounding excited. 

Harris looked up in alarm. "It's for emergencies," he explained quickly. "I can't use it all the time or just for fun." 

Charlie looked confused. "Why not?" 

Slytherin!" Didn't Charlie understand that? Harris grabbed his green and silver tie and pulled it forward as proof. "Slytherins don't live in the Gryffindor dorms! And we certainly don't go there for sleepover parties either!" 

His cousin looked at him, disappointed, and even a little hurt. "Oh." 

Harris felt bad. Hurting Charlie's feelings had been the last thing he wanted to do. "Look, Cousin, I appreciate the bed and the password, and I will use them if I need to, but I'm not a Gryffindor and never will be. I think that's the House I'm _least_ suited to. I don't _want_ to be a Gryffindor. I _want_ to be a Slytherin like Father." Harris grinned, partly at his cousin's dismay, but mostly to reassure him. "Dad married a Gryffindor. I can have one for a best friend." 

Charlie looked stunned for a moment. Then, "M-me?" he asked stupidly. Harris smirked and nodded once. "I'm your best friend?" Charlie tried to grasp the concept. 

Harris raised an eyebrow. "Well, it sure isn't Avery." 

Charlie blinked at that, then smiled brightly. "Wow. And I didn't even think you liked me!" 

Harris lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You didn't?" he blurted. 

Charlie shrugged, slightly embarrassed. "You never looked particularly glad to see me," he pointed out. 

Harris decided this was a bad direction for the conversation to take. "Was that everything McGonagall told you?" It wasn't even close to subtle, but the dodge worked. 

"Pretty much. You can talk to her or Dumbledore, you have a bed at our place, you don't have to get reSorted if you don't want to. I think that was everything. Oh, yeah. Your mum is worried about you and considered taking you out of Hogwarts." 

Harris' eyes widened. "She can't do that!" 

Charlie grinned. "Glad you feel that way, cuz that what Headmaster Dumbledore told her." 

Harris relaxed. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt in his last letter home. He wouldn't lie to her though. He'd just have to emphasize the positive next time. 

* * *

_ September 5, 1984  
Dear Mum, Father, Rest,  
Charlie said McGonagall said you almost took me out of Hogwarts. Don't. _

I hate it here. Not as much as the Slytherins hate me, though. Charlie's cool. I'm going with him this Saturday to watch Bill try out for the Gryffindor Quiddich team. I promised to heckle Bill enough to make up for the Weasley twins' absense if he doesn't make the team. I hope he makes it, because, if he doesn't, I don't think I can live up to what Charlie says the twins are like. 

Spent the afternoon with the Gryffindors: Pam and Tommy (they were on the Hogwarts train with me), Charlie, Walrus (he's muggle born, I think I mentioned him before), and Brian Baxter. We did potions homework, and hung out. Walrus had us listen to muggle music on his Walking Man. Then we played a muggle game called freeze tag that Pam introduced. She's muggle born, too. Walrus says we should give ourselves new names. So he's Walrus (his real name is Richard, he started the Walrus thing at the Sorting ceremony; it has something to do with a muggle song. Clarence can explain.) Charlie's Weasel. I'm Snake. Brian was elected as Eggman. Collectively, we're supposed to call ourselves the Eggmen. See if Clarence can find out anything about a Beetles song called "I am the Walrus." Not sure how much we'll call each other by these. Hopefully, not much. Pam and Tommy somehow escaped without getting renamed. 

See, Mum, I did make friends. 

I've even got a bed in the Gryffindor dormitory if I need it. Green and silver sheets, Father, I'm not a total traitor. I won't use it unless Avery forces me to, though. It's a better sanctuary than the Hospital Wing. 

Mum, I know what I want to get Charlie for Christmas. He needs a new broom. A Cleansweep 5 should do. It'll surprise him and he's my best and first friend here. We will invite him and his family over during break, right? 

Me and the Slytherins have been pretty much just ignoring each other today. No confrontations or fights so far. Just a few glares and scowls. If this keeps up, I might even start liking it here. 

That's about it. Miss you all,  
Harris (the Snake) 

* * *

Thursday might have dawned bright and colorful. But the Slytherins' dormitory was in the dungeons, so Harris had no way of knowing. He'd had another rough night of nightmares and terrified certainty of imminent murder. Once, he was certain that someone was moving about the room. It was too dark to see if Avery and Martin were in bed, but nobody hovered over him with drawn steel. Morning eventually came with him still breathing and healthy. 

The attack had simply not been aimed at his person. 

His robes had only short black threads where his Slytherin crest used to be. Every green and silver part of his uniform was missing. He looked over at Avery and Martin, who were watching him with avid interest and smirking. "Lose something, Tragyl?" Martin taunted. 

Harris surpressed anger, and wordlessly dressed in his unadorned uniform. He wouldn't beg for his things back. That would show weakness. He'd probably loose points for not being properly attired, but there wasn't anything he could do about that. The attack was only symbolic, he couldn't let it bother him. 

But as he walked to the Great Hall, he felt conspicuous. He shrank in on himself, holding his Astronomy book close to his chest to hide his lack of tie and crest. At the Slytherin table, he took the seat on the far side of Madeline, facing away from the rest of the Hall. 

Astronomy was right after breakfast, and it was the Slytherins' only class with the Hufflepuffs. Harris entered the tower room where class was held and slipped into a back corner seat where he hoped to be overlooked. No such luck. Professor Sinistra frowned at him and asked, "Young man, isn't your uniform . . . incomplete?" 

He'd known she'd ask. He still hadn't come up with an answer. He blushed furiously. "Yes, ma'am," he replied to the literal question, but did not attempt an explanation. He slouched down in mortification. Everyone was staring at him. 

"He doesn't have his House crest," one particularly astute Hufflepuff observed. 

It was the opening Avery must have been hoping for. "He doesn't have a House," he corrected loudly. 

Harris was on his feet before he realized he had moved. Fists clenched, and face red, he glared at his adversary and tried to control his breathing. "I'm as Slytherin as you are, Avery," Harris said in his best angry-but-calm voice. It was the voice Father used with Grandfather and Sividious. "Stealing my stuff doesn't change that. Just makes you a thief." 

Avery stood, eyes blazing dangerously. Martin rose faster, and took a threating step toward Harris, but there were too many desks in the way for it to matter. "You dare insult me?" Avery demanded. 

Harris never looked away from Avery. Between Professor Sinistra's presence and the intervening furniture, Martin was no threat. "I told only truth. Awfully un-Slytherin of me, I admit." 

"Boys!" Sinistra interrupted, raising both voice and arms. "Take your seats this instant, or all three of you will be serving detention! Ten points from Slytherin!" 

"We're already doing detention," Martin muttered, but sent Harris only one more glare before taking his seat. Avery did likewise. Harris sank into his chair and wished he could disappear. Hufflepuff would surely spread the rumour to Gryffindor about what happened, then the Eggmen would want to hear about it from him. 

Walrus might even take the argument as proof that Harris was growing a spine. Temper and idiot courage were by no stretch of the imagination the same thing. Both could have unpleasant consequences, though. Frightened anticipation began to churn through Harris. Avery must seek revenge for the public confrontation. 

Sinistra made no further mention of his incomplete uniform, nor did the Hufflepuffs. The lesson stayed strictly on topic. Sinistra wasn't as obviously ignoring him as Snape had, but she somehow never quite looked at his corner throughout the class. Of course, this time, he was eager to avoid notice. 

A few hours later, during lunch, Harris caught professors stealing quick looks in his direction. Dumbledore watched him openly. As he was getting up to leave, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun away, half-convinced it was Avery or Martin, even though he'd already watched them leave. Crouching defensively, Harris regarded the old white-bearded wizard, standing a step behind where he had just been, one hand hovering in the air, and a mildly surprised look on his face. Harris straightened. "Headmaster?" 

The surprised look dissipated, and Dumbledore regarded Harris with concern and pity. Resentment welled up within Harris. He didn't want pity. Or advice or help or whatever it was that the Headmaster sought him out for. But Dumbledore said nothing. He silently extended a closed hand and opened it, palm up. It wasn't empty. 

Harris took a cautious step forward, eying the Headmaster with distrust. The wrinkled hand offered a Slytherin badge and a green and white striped tie. Darting another uncertain look at the wizard, Harris took them both. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled. 

Dumbledore only smiled mildly. "That patch has a self-sewing spell on it, so make sure you hold it to your robes straight." 

Harris held it a centimeter from his chest, and looked to the Headmaster for confirmation. He nodded, and Harris pressed the Slytherin crest against its proper position. The frayed black threads merged with it, and when Harris took his hand away, it stayed in place. He clipped on the tie, and looked down at himself. The uniform looked much better. When he looked up to thank the Headmaster again, Dumbledore was gone. 

* * *

Astronomy had been their only class that day, so after lunch, Harris went to the library to avoid his house mates. The Gryffindors were still in class, so he spent the first two hours reading _Common Potion Ingredients_. It was even more dull than the textbook Snape had assigned. By the time 3 o'clock rolled around, Harris felt he knew more about daisy roots, fluxweed, and knotgrass than any normal person should. Well, unless you were a potions master or a Ravenclaw. 

The Eggmen bore down on him as soon as they could reach the library from the Astronomy tower. Walrus spoke first, and loud enough to cause Madam Pince the librarian to glower at them, "Snake! The Vries twins from Hufflepuff told Roger Gibson who told us about what happened in your Astronomy class this morning!" 

Harris sighed, closed the ingredients book with a snap, and sat back in his chair. He hadn't even realized there were a set of twins in Hufflepuff, and who was Roger Gibson? It was only four days into classes, how did Walrus know so many people already? 

Tommy frowned, and softly asked Walrus, "Didn't Roger say Harris didn't have his Slytherin stuff anymore?" He unconciously touched his own Gryffindor crest. 

Walrus seemed to notice for the first time that those accessories were in still place. "Yeah, hey, Snake, how'd you get your things back? Did Avery give them back?" 

Harris scowled, "Not hardly. Dumbledore gave me another set. I guess Sinistra told him what happened." 

"Come to Gryffindor tonight," Charlie begged, speaking for the first time. "It's safer there. Please, coz?" 

Harris shook his head. "That'll make things worse." 

Charlie didn't back down. His eyes still pleaded, but his voice had developed a hard edge, "How?" 

The question was so simple, yet Harris couldn't formulate an answer. But he knew he was right. He couldn't stay at Gryffindor tonight. Not ever, not until Avery and Martin proved that staying in Slytherin was no longer an option. Once he went to Gryffindor he couldn't ever go back. The thought terrified him, and he began to sweat and even shake a little. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his fear. _I hate it here. I hate being so scared, and I really hate these little shows of weakness. Why can't I be stong? Mum must have been. And why, in the name of Merlin, are there so many people around all the time?_

Charlie was at his side instantly, wrapping his arms lightly around his cousin's quaking shoulders. Harris was grateful for it, but he wished everyone else would just go away. He didn't want the brave Gryffindor Eggmen to see him like this. Wasn't it bad enough that they'd given him the name Snake? Most people, particularly Gryffindors, used the word as an insult. At least Walrus was the only one who used it with any regularity. 

"What is going on here?" An adult female voice demanded quietly. Harris looked up quickly, and Charlie jumped away from him. Madam Pince stood over the group. Had they been too loud? Harris looked nervously at his companions. Hopefully she'd take the points from Gryffindor. They had the majority after all. Madam Pince's frown deeped. "You five should be ashamed. I'd have thought better of Gryffindors." 

Harris was confused. Gryffindors were certainly not known for being quiet, and there were six of them. He counted again just to be sure. Walrus, Charlie, Brian, Tommy, amd Pam. Five Gryffindors, plus himself. Six. Maybe Pince had counted wrong? The librarian was clearly angry. That might account for her mistake, but why would she be so upset for just talking a little loud? Perhaps she was as protective of her silence as that creepy Filch was about his floors. He made a mental note not to ever really raise his voice in the library, it might be a hanging offense. 

"Detention, all five of you!" She glowered at each of the Gryffindors in turn. "I'll have no victimizing in my library!" The Gryffindors' surprise from the detentions was quickly crowded out by bafflement and self-righteousness. 

"We weren't victimizing anybody!" Brian exclaimed indignantly. 

She hadn't miscounted, Harris realized with a start. She just hadn't been counting him. She thought the Eggmen were picking on him. A small amused smirk picked up one corner of his mouth. She'd probably only caught Walrus's opening line of the conversation, and that could probably have been construed as the opening for a greivance against Harris. She'd obviously been watching him get more and more upset. 

Five Gryffindors bearing down on a single Slytherin, their leader calling him a Snake a little too loudly. They surround him, and he starts looking scared. Then one of them moved within touching range. Her view was probably partially obscured by the other Gryffindors so she didn't see it was a friendly gesture. There was really only one conclusion she could have reached. He began to laugh, quietly at first, then more and more hysterically until he wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying. 

Somebody was holding him he realized eventually, rocking him gently. The person was too big to be Charlie, and didn't smell like Mum. He tried to push away. The arms loosened, but hands closed around his upper biceps, holding him steady and at arms length. He drew in a shaky breath and used the back of his hand to wipe his nose, and his fingers to swipe at the wetness on his cheeks. He dried his hand on his robes with two quick sweeps. He braced himself, and looked toward his comforter. Madam Pince. 

"They weren't picking on me," he said through his uneven breathing. He glanced around. The Eggmen still surrounded him, looking worried. Worried about him. He wasn't sure if he should feel embarrassed or honored. He settled on both. 

One of the librarian's hands released him to reach into her robes and offer him a tissue. "I figured that out, child," she said gently. 

He accepted the tissue and blew his nose. Each breath was coming much easier now, too. "So, no detentions, right?" 

She smiled. It didn't look like something she did a lot. "No detentions," she confirmed. The Eggmen looked relieved. 

In an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, Brian asked, "Hey, how about we all go play Freeze Tag again. It's really nice out today." Agreement spread quickly among the Gryffindors, and Harris nodded, too. He didn't have to think or talk about Slytherins when they played tag. 

They were several steps on their way when Pince called out, "Mr. Tragyl!" 

Harris froze and turned around, surprised by her suddenly sharp tone. 

"I believe you took this book off its shelf?" she prompted sternly, curtly waving a hand at _Common Potion Ingredients_. Clearly she had very few doubts about her beliefs. 

Harris blushed. "Oops." He quickly returned it to its proper place in the Potions section, and returned to the Eggmen who were waiting next to the door for him. Only as they hurried down the stairs of the castle did he realize something odd. "Did any of you guys give her my name?" The looked at him curiously but shook their heads. "Neither did I." 

Most of them looked puzzled, but Pam ventured a guess. "You are the only Slytherin who's friends with Gryffindors. Maybe you're famous among the teachers already." 

Harris did not find that a comforting thought at all. 

* * *

The game of tag lasted until dinnertime. At its height, there were the six Eggmen, two other Gryffindor girls whose names Harris didn't catch, a few Ravenclaws, and a handful of Hufflepuffs. Two of the Hufflepuffs were apparently the Vries twins, Timothy and Wendy. Charlie pointed them out while Pam and Walrus gave conflicting instructions on how to play to a group of curious spectators that included the Vries. Despite the confusion, the group caught on quickly, and joined in. 

As a great milling, laughing, and cheerful mob they all walked back to the great hall together in time for dinner. Harris almost wished he could sit with Charlie and the Eggmen tonight, but he turned toward the Slytherin table amid calls of 'good-bye' and 'play again tomorrow' that were passed between the different groups as they split apart. He didn't feel as conspicous as he had without his Slytherin insignia, but he still felt strangely visible being the only Slytherin to break away from the multi-house group. He glanced toward the teacher's table and noticed both Wallsby and Snape watching him. He cringed and looked away quickly. They hated him. But then, so did all the Slytherins, so that was hardly unexpected. 

Harris took his usual seat across from Avery and next to Evalyn. Avery and Martin narrowed their eyes as they saw his uniform was complete again. Neither said anything about it, of course. Doing so would admit that Harris was sitting with them. 

The six Slytherins returned to their dormitory together, Harris hanging back several paces. They split in the common room as the boys went to their room and the girls went to theirs. Only when the door closed of the first year boys room did anyone acknowledge Harris' presence. "I see you got a badge again. Who'd you beg for it? McGonagall?" Avery taunted. 

Harris' fists clenched. He had used to think he had a pretty even temper, but all Avery had to do was look at him, and Harris was suddenly furious. "Dumbledore gave it to me," he said through gritted teeth. The admission wasn't much of an improvement over begging McGonagall. 

Avery smirked and Martin snickered. "Ickle Harry got saved by the -" 

"My name is Harris!" Harris angrily interrupted Martin's mockery. 

Harris abruptly turned his back on his roommates and began getting ready for bed. They had ignored him during dinner, now it was their turn to suffer the silent treatment. He sensed more than heard Martin's approach. Quickly, he pulled on the pajama top so he wouldn't have to deal with them only half dressed. He'd barely pulled his head through when he was grabbed from behind. 

Martin took hold of his arm and spun him around to face his larger adversary. Martin had an easy twenty or thirty pounds on him, and he looked down at Harris from several inches difference. Harris all but stopped breathing. His nightmares had been all wrong. It wasn't _Avery_ who would murder him. That job must fall to his thug. 

"Not so brave now, are you, Weasley?" 

Harris could not look away from Martin's threatening visage, but he did manage to sqeaked out a rejoinder, "I'm no more a Weasley than I am a Malfoy." No less either. Somehow Harris had inherited cowardice from the one side and reckless stupidity from the other. It didn't make for a healthy combination. 

Martin got a double handful of the front of Harris' pajama top, and pushed him backwards into a wall. Harris hit his head hard enough to see stars. He tried to shake away the dizziness, but that didn't help. By the time his vision cleared, Martin was in his face again. "Take that back!" 

Harris cringed against wall and began sidling away, but Martin followed like a stalking cat. "Take what back?" There wasn't anything _to_ take back, but if it would make Martin back off he would willingly deny whatever he wanted denied. 

"It's true," Avery said calmly, surprisingly on Harris' side. "Draco Malfoy and I are his second cousins as much as Charlie Weasley is." 

Martin stepped back and looked at Avery as though he'd grown a third arm on his forehead. "That scum is your cousin, too?" 

"Not Charlie," Avery corrected with derision, both for the Gryffindor boy and the absurd suggestion. "Just Tragyl. His father is my mother's cousin. His father's side is perfectly respectable. It's his mother that's a Weasley." By his disgusted tone, Weasley was synonomous with something unspeakably vile. Harris' mother often used to same tone for the names 'Avery' and 'Malfoy'. 

While the other two were distracted, Harris tried to put his bed between him and Martin, but he managed to refocus attention on himself. Martin made another grab for him, but Avery called him off. "Martin, step aside!" he commanded, drawing his wand. Harris froze, and sweat dripped down his back and into his eyes. His breathing turned ragged as Avery lifted the little piece of wood. He'd been right the first time his murderer was Avery. But the weapon was nothing so crude as a simple knife. No, Death Eater Junior was going to kill him with a curse. 

Avery swished the wand and spoke the latin spell words. Purple energy leapt toward Harris and enveloped him. He screamed as what felt like thousands of simultaneous bee stings covered his body. He curled in on himself, screaming and crying in pain. After what seemed ages, somebody touched him. His throat was sore and his voice hoarse from the screaming, but he managed to raise its volume a notch. The hand or whatever it was retreated much to his relief, then an adult male voice said a word or two, and the bee stings abruptly vanished. 

The hands returned and helped him rise and stagger to his bed. Harris was crying too hard to identify his rescuer. Something was pushed into his grasp, and whoever-it-was said, "Drink." Trusting the anonymous man implicitly, Harris did. Almost immediately, his raw throat started feeling better. 

"Thank you," he whispered, trying to regain control over his sobs. 

"You two," the man's voice was low and dangerous. "If I hear of anything remotely like this happening again, I will personally see you expelled. Is that perfectly clear?" 

"Yes, Professor," Avery and Martin chorused, sounding truly chastened, and even a little frightened. 

"Get out," the professor instructed curtly. By the sound of their rapid steps, Avery and Martin were only too happy to comply. 

A hand returned to Harris' shoulder. "How are you doing now?" he asked in a soft voice. 

"Better," Harris whispered, still not trusting his voice. 

There was a short pause. "Have you need to visit the Hospital Wing?" 

_Only as an excuse to get out of here,_ he thought, but shook his head. He wasn't really hurt anymore, after all. 

The professor sat down on the bed, making it shift under his weight. "Good. I will ask you not to talk of this incident to anyone." 

_Why?_ Harris wondered but did not ask. No doubt some kind of cover-up. That was a Slytherin thing to do. He nodded his promise. Maybe, just maybe, it would gain him _some_ goodwill from his Housemates. Besides, the teacher who had stopped the bees asked, and for that, Harris would do almost anything. 

"Albus said he gave you a bed in Gryffindor. Why did you stay here?" 

Just as he was getting the crying under control, too. He broke down again. "I'm _Slytherin_!" he exclaimed between sobs. "Why's that so hard for you people to understand? Dad _married_ a bloody Gryffindor, but no one denies _he's_ Slytherin. But I can't be friends with my own cousin without making people think the ruddy Hat made a mistake with me. I'm gonna have _brothers_ in there in a few years. What am I supposed to do then? Say I never met them? Where my friends and family are does not change the fact that _I. Am. Slytherin_!" 

The professor squeezed his shoulder briefly, then stood up. "Perhaps not. You will, however, face an uphill battle to convince others of that. I wish you luck. Slytherin House needs people like you, especially now." The man swept toward the door, his visit obviously at an end. 

"Professor!" he called out, suddenly not wanting his saviour to leave, particularly since he still didn't know who he was. The man stopped, evidently waiting for Harris to continue. Not exactly sure what to say, he said only, "Thank you." 

There was a long pause. Harris brushed and blinked away tears, deperately trying to see the professor. All he could make out was a black blob. "I will see you in Potions next Tuesday," the man finally replied, then was gone with a swish of fabric. Harris stared at where Snape had just stood, gape jawed, as his vision slowly came into focus. He didn't recover from the shock until Martin and Avery returned. They didn't so much as look at him as they got ready for bed, turned out the lights, and slipped under their covers.   
  
  


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	9. The Letters C & M, and the Number 4

**Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984  
Chapter Eight: This Chapter has been Brought to You by the Letters C and M and the Number 4**

  
  
Mum put a small statue of a wizard Menteron couldn't recognize on a small glass table in the foyer. She looked at the twins seriously. "This is a portkey. If you touch it, you will be instantly transported to the end of driveway. I could have set it to bring you right to the school, but that would be risky, so we'll just go to the gate." 

Beside Menteron, Clarence nodded. Assured that his twin knew what going on, Menteron focused back on Mum. She smiled reassuringly at them. "Billy's mother will drive you to school and back home. When you touch the portkey, it'll come with you to the end of the driveway. Touching it again will bring it and you back here. Okay?" 

Menteron looked at his brother. Clarence nodded. Menteron copied the motion. 

"It's very important that you both touch it at the same time, or one of you will be left behind. You father and I will be home at the normal time. Until then, we'll be at work. Okay?" 

"Okay," Menteron agreed promptly. Mum and Father being at work was easy to understand. 

She smiled. "All right then. You have everything?" 

"Yes, Mum," Clarence assured her. His three days of leg-lock had ended last night, and he and a silent Menteron had spent the entire hour between dinner and bed time making sure everything was ready for school the next day. 

She stepped away from the little statue. "Be good. And remember, no magic!" 

"Mum, we don't know magic, yet," Clarence pointed out. 

She smiled nervously at him. "Yes, I know. Try not to do any accidently. And don't talk about it." 

"We know, Mum," Menteron told her. She and Father had talked about what they could and couldn't say for ages yesterday. 

"Alright." She clasped her hands in front of her, then let go. "Bye, sweeties." 

As one, he and Clarence gave her a hug. "Bye, Mum!" Then they approached the statue. "Ready?" Clarence asked. 

"Ready," Menteron declared. 

"Now!" Together, they touch the pewter piece. Menteron felt a horrible feeling in his stomach, like he was going to be sick. Then the foyer was gone, and they were standing next to gate. Clarence put the statue on a rock, then squeezed between the gate's bars. Menteron followed. 

Clarence looked around the Muggle neighborhood as though seeing it for the first time. Menteron realized his brother had never come out here when there wasn't a taxi already waiting for them. "That one's Billy's house." Menteron pointed out the white house across the street from them. "Billy's cool, and his Mum makes really good cookies. They've got a rat even bigger than Scabbers." 

"Scabbers?" 

"Oh, I forgot. You were at Hogwarts when we went over the Weasley's. Fred and George have a brother who has a rat. The rat's name is Scabbers. He's fat and lazy. Me and Fred and George ratnapped him from Percy." The twins crossed the quiet street (without looking both ways) and approached Billy's house as Menteron described the scene. "You should have seen Percy when he found out what we did. You think Jansten got mad when we tossed his room looking for your chocolate frog?" 

Clarence laughed. "Worse than that?" 

"Lots worse. Not even Tryna screams like that. And Percy's old. Like Brent-and-Valr-old." Which was to say, bigger than Menteron, but littler than Jansten and Harris. Clarence reached up on tippy toes and pushed a little round button next to the door. There was a ringing noise inside the house. 

"Doorbell," Clarence explained. "I read about them once. I thought that might be one." 

"I'll get it!" some yelled from inside. After a moment, the door swung inward. A boy, taller than Menteron and Clarence, pulled at the doorknob. "It's the twins!" the boy called up the flight of stairs. 

Billy arrived on the scene a few seconds later, coming from where Menteron remembered the kitchen to be. "Billy, this is my brother Clarence." 

Billy grinned at them, then pointed at the boy who had opened the door. "This is my brother Harvey. He's seven." 

Billy's mum came down the stairs just then. "Everyone in the car! We're going to be late!" Menteron let Harvey lead the way. The older boy took the front seat. In the taxis, passangers always sat in the back. Suddenly uncertain, he watched as Billy opened the back door and scuttled to the far end of the back seat. Clarence climbed in behind him. Menteron took the rear. Billy's mum closed the door after them. 

The car ride was no more special than a taxi ride, but he had only been in a taxi three times, all yesterday. To the school, to London, and back home. He stared out the window, watching as they passed muggle houses, sheep, and a muggle playground. He pointed this last out to Clarence, who got yelled at for taking off his seat belt to get a better look. 

They soon arrived at the school. Billy's mum did not leave the car, so Menteron and Clarence followed Billy to find their class. As they entered, Menteron recognized Madam Baker from yesterday, and Davie and Greg from when he fell out of the tree. He pointed out the last two for Clarence's benefit. "That's Greg and Davie. I told you about them." Clarence nodded. 

Madam Baker approached them with a smile. She clapped loudly, twice, gaining the attention of the class. "We have two new students in the school today, class," she announced. "I want you all to say hello to Menteron and Clarence." 

"Hello Menteron and Clarence," the class chanted together. 

"Hi!" Menteron replied. Clarence smiled and waved, stepping closer to his brother. 

"Who's who?" someone called out. 

"Menteron," Menteron pointed at himself, then at his twin, "Clarence." Menteron was under no delusions that anyone could tell them apart once they moved from this spot. Especially since they were dressed exactly the same. With a school uniform, they had little choice. 

The teacher showed them to their seats, and the morning announcements came over the loudspeaker. Menteron and Clarence both jumped at the sudden disembodied voice that crackled out from the wall. Most of the words were garbled in static, so Menteron looked at Clarence, expecting the other twin to be able to translate it for him. Clarence just shrugged back helplessly, and tried even harder to interprete the awful sounds. 

At one point, the rest of the class stood and clasped their hands together in front of them. Menteron and Clarence copied them, and mumbled along when they spoke, pretending they had some clue about what was going on. Then the weird voice stopped, and Madam Baker stepped in front of her class again, smiling. "Good morning, class." 

"Good morning, Madam Baker," the class chorused. 

"Everybody come to the Sharing Rug and sit in a circle." It took some doing, and Menteron wasn't totally convinced that the end result should be called a circle, but they did manage to sit in a wavy approximation of the desired shape, with Madam Baker in the middle. But she smiled proudly and said, "Very good, class. Today we're going to do a counting excercise." 

Beside him, Clarence perked up. Internally, Menteron groaned. 

"We're going to go around the circle and say how many people live in your house." She smiled at them encouragingly. "So if you live with just your dad, you would say two. Yourself is one, and Dad is two. If you live with both your parents and one sister, that would be four. Mom is one, Dad is two, you are three, and your sister is four. Okay?" She looked around the circle. "Clarence, why don't you start?" 

Clarence looked up at the ceiling, and began to do something weird with his fingers. Then he looked right at Madam Baker and said, "Nine." 

She looked surprised. "That's a lot of people. Why don't you tell us all their names?" 

"There's Mum - one, Father - two, Jansten - three, Brent - four, Valr - five, Menteron - six, me - seven, Kib - eight, and Tryna - nine." 

Menteron frowned. "You missed Harris." 

"Harris is at boarding school. He doesn't live with us now." 

"What about Lulli?" 

Clarence's brows shot up. "Oh! Forgot about her. Lulli is ten," he told Madam Baker. "Ten people." 

"And Tracy." 

Clarence shook his head. "She doesn't _live_ with us. She's dead." 

"Well, she _stays_ with us then." 

"But that wasn't what Madam Baker asked." His eyes widened breifly and he started whispering, "Besides, weren't we supposed to not talk about Tracy?" 

Menteron frowned. "Don't remember. Maybe." 

"Who is Tracy?" Madam Baker asked carefully. "Your sister?" 

"Oh, no," Clarence denied. "Tryna's our only sister. Tracy's our resident ghost. She's been dead for centuries." 

Madam Baker lifted her eyebrows in surprise and disbelief. At this reaction, Clarence turned back to Menteron and said sagely, "I think she was one of the forbidden topics." Menteron nodded agreement, remembering the weird looks Billy, Davie, and Greg had given him when he talked about Tracy the other day. 

"They live in a real haunted house," Billy said suddenly, reminding him that he and Clarence were not alone with the teacher. "My brother told me so." 

"How did Harvey know?" Clarence asked, curious. 

Billy leaned forward, "He went up there on a dare a couple Halloweens ago." 

Menteron looked at Clarence in alarm. His brother was looking right back at him with the same expression. The younger twin looked away first, fixing Billy with a intent gaze. "Did he say what he saw?" Clarence asked carefully. 

Billy shuddered. "Ghosts." 

Clarence frowned and looked at Menteron. "Did Trace have a Halloween party lately? I thought she always went over to the Malfoys for the holiday cuz that's where her cousin haunts." 

Menteron crossed his arms, sulkily. "If she did, she didn't invite _me_!" 

"Mum prolly wouldn't let her if it was late," Clarence pointed out reasonably. 

"I guess," Menteron conceeded. 

"So he just saw the ghosts, nothing else weird?" Clarence asked Billy. 

Billy gave him a look that plainly said _What could be weirder than ghosts?_ A girl several people away from Billy raised her hand. 

"Yes, Ashley?" Madam Baker asked. 

"Are you related to the Addams family?" she asked the twins. 

"Or the Munsters?" someone else chimed in. 

Menteron looked to Clarence, not knowing the answer. He didn't recognize either name, but if it wasn't Tragyl or Weasley he wouldn't. Clarence frowned, biting his lip, a sign of deep thought. "Don't think I ever heard of the Munsters," he admitted, "but I think we've got Adams relatives somewhere." He looked at Menteron. "Didn't Aunt Trisha marry an Adams?" Menteron shrugged, not even knowing he had an Aunt Trisha. 

Madam Baker suddenly clapped her hands. All the children looked up at her. "Davie, how about you tell us how many people are in your family?" 

Clarence's hand shot up. 

"Yes, Clarence?" 

"That's not what you said before. Lulli's not in our family. There's only nine people living with us who are family." 

"Yeah, Lulli's our House -" 

"Maid," Clarence cut in just in time. Menteron shot him a thankful look. House elves were definitely a forbidden topic. 

"Thank you, Clarence," Madam Baker said, ending the discussion and bringing class back on track. "Davie?" 

"Four. Mum, Dad, me, and my big brother." 

"Very good." Menteron wondered why Clarence didn't get a 'very good'. It was a lot easier to count to four than to nine. Menteron usually got stuck at around six. 

* * *

After lunch, the class sat again in a circle on the Sharing Rug. This circle was even less deserving of being called a circle than the one this morning had. Madam Baker smiled at them anyway. "We're going to learn two very important letters today. C and M. Can anyone tell me a word or name that begins with a C?" 

Clarence's hand shot up in the air. "Yes?" Madam Baker called on him. 

"Clarence does." Then, because he was fairly sure she didn't know which twin was which anymore, he added, "My name." 

The teacher beamed at him, "Very good!" She pulled out a large construction paper C and safety pinned it to his shirt. "Does anyone else have a name that starts with C?" she asked the rest of the class. Looking down at the blue letter, Clarence did not think it was a coincidence that today's letters were the ones that started the twins' names. Two other students, a Christopher and a Cecila also received their own C's. 

"Now who can tell me a name or word that starts with M?" Madam Baker asked when all the C's were distributed. 

Clarence nudged his brother when he did not promptly raise his hand. Getting the hint, the older twin called out, "Menteron does!" 

"Right," Madam Baker agreed, pinning an orange M to his shirt. Then she added, "You should raise your hand before answering, though, okay, Menteron?" 

Menteron nodded. "Okay." 

* * *

Billy's mum was waiting in her car at the end of the day. Harvey, Billy's brother, arrived not long after the twins and Billy. When he'd closed the front passenger's side door, Billy's mum started the car and pulled away. "How was your first day?" She asked the twins. Clarence thought the question was more for formality than because she was interested. 

"Okay," Menteron answered, never very good at talking to adults, particularly ones that weren't Mum and Father. 

Clarence stopped himself from saying they'd had a near call when House Elves almost came up, but remember in time that (a) Billy's mum didn't know about House Elves either and (b) it wasn't something he wanted even his parents to know. They wouldn't be happy if they found out they were almost tripped up so quickly. He and Menteron had been good after that one time, though, and Clarence considered that adequete enough improvement to avoid burdening their parents about the little ghost mishap or the near-disaster of almost bringing up the elf. 

"Fine," Clarence answered instead. He couldn't help adding, "We talked about ghosts." Menteron shot him a Look, but Clarence ignored it. Ghosts, in general, were a safe muggle topic. There were all kinds of muggle stories about them. They just probably shouldn't have talked so much about Tracy. Friendly ghosts just weren't as popular among muggles as the scary kind. 

"Ghosts!" Billy's mum repeated, surprised into real interest. 

Harvey twisted around in his seat, looking pale. "I saw some up your way," he whispered, either because he couldn't speak of it aloud or because he irrationally though his mother wouldn't hear him. 

"You what!" Billy's mum demanded, shoting her elder son a sharp glare. 

Harvey flinched. "I saw ghosts. Talked to one even. His - its - his name was Valr," he confided. Clarence and Menteron stared at him, looked at each other, then burst out laughing. 

Harvey was looking offended when Clarence recovered enough to look at him again. "Valr's not a ghost!" he tried to explain, still laughing. 

"Ooh-ho, Valr really got you good, didn't he?" Menteren asked, tears of laughter streaming down his face. 

"He didn't even _tell_ us!" Clarence lamented. 

"You'd think he'd've _loved_ to tell about the prank he pulled on a muggle," Menteron added, sounding regretful that Valr hadn't turned his storytelling skills to describing the incident. 

"We wouldn't have believed him," Clarence admitted. 

Menteron shrugged at him. "Still would've been funny." 

"Might've been afraid Mum and Father would find out. We're not supposed to talk to -" Clarence cut himself off as he realized he and Menteron had an audience. "- the neighbors," he finished a lot quieter and distinctly embarrassed. If Menteron showed an accurate mirror image of himself, he was blushing. 

Billy and Harvey were staring at them. If his mum wasn't driving, Clarence was fairly certain she'd've been too. As it was, she kept shooting looks at them in the rear-view mirror. "Who's Valr?" Harvey finally asked. 

"Our brother," Clarence said, much calmer than he'd been a moment ago. Menteron nodded his agreement, as if there might some doubt. 

"Oh," Harvey said. "So he tricked me?" 

"If he told you he was a ghost, then yes, he tricked you," Clarence told the older boy, trying not to sound like he was stating the obvious. It was hard. 

"But I could see through him!" 

Clarence and Menteron exchanged confused looks. "Think it was accidental?" Clarence asked his brother, trying to be oblique. 

"Pretty sure Valr meant it on purpose." Menteron wasn't so good at picking up on subtlety. 

"Like how you on purpose didn't kill yourself falling out of that tree?" Clarence tried a different tact. 

Menteron's eyes widened. Finally, he got it. "That was probably it," he agreed on the accidental magic assessment. 

They were getting weird looks from Billy's family again. Clarence told himself that this was _Valr's_ mess, not his and Menteron's. All the twins had done was try to explain that Valr wasn't a ghost. Therefore, it should be Valr trying to explain his way out of his transparency. "Tell ya what. You're having that barbeque this weekend?" he asked Billy. 

A little too warily, Billy nodded. 

"I'll bring Valr, and prove he's a solid as any of us." 

"Can ya bring Tracy, too?" Billy asked with equal shares of trepidation and curiousity. 

Menteron shook his head, and Clarence explained, "She doesn't leave our attic except for Halloween and Deathdays." 

"What's a Deathday?" Harvey asked, with the same mix of emotions he brother had. 

"It's like a birthday, except it's when a ghost died." 

The silence following this lasted until Billy's mum pulled into her driveway. Clarence realized belatedly that he had forgetten to watch for that muggle playground, like he had meant to when he chose his seat. He mentally shrugged off the minor disappointment and opened his door. He and Menteron (who had been sitting in the middle) tumbled out his side. 

They said their goodbyes to Billy and his brother, then squeezed through the gate bars. With some difficulty, Clarence located where he had left the portkey, and waved over his brother. "Okay, on the count of three, touch it. One, two, three!" Both twins touched the little figurine and disappeared. 

The next moment they were standing the the Tragyl foyer again. "That is so cool," Menteron delivered his opinion. Clarence nodded his agreement. It sure saved time. Normally it took ages to walk down the drive. The Tragyl ancestor who had built the house must have had serious privacy issues. Being a Slytherin wizard in a muggle neighborhood, that wasn't terribly surprising, come to think of it. 

Clarence put the little figure/portkey on the glass table next to the door, then yelled up the stairs, "Valr!" 

Menteron's shout was more general, "We're home!" 

Somebody shouted something back, but it was muffled to incoherancy. Clarence made a guess that their own shouts were equally indistiguishable, and so guessed its interpretation. "They said 'what?'" he told Menteron, who took his word for it without question. Together, they clambered up the stairs, and as they reached the top, Menteron repeated his homecoming announcement. 

The tutoring room door was open and the answer came from there. "Good for you!" Clarence entered the room, and looked at the desks lining the walls. Only was occupied. Brent sat beside an elderly wizard, and both were looking towards them. "How was muggle school?" he asked curiously. 

"Great!" Menteron answered enthusiastically. 

"Where's Valr?" Clarence asked, letting Menteron's answer work for him, too. 

Brent hooked a finger toward an adjoining room, where the smaller tutoring rooms were. "The farthest one back. Why?" 

"Billy's brother met him a year or so ago," Clarence answered, trying to sound casual. "Thought he was a ghost." 

"I know Jansten's called him dead meat before, but I hadn't thought he was serious," Brent remarked with a straight face. 

Clarence laughed, and a moment later, so did Menteron. Looking mildly amused himself, Brent's tutor said, "If you would like to join your brothers for a game of Valr haunting, we are finished with today's lesson. Do the first ten questions at the end of the chapter." 

Brent nodded acknowledgement of his assignment. "Thanks, bye!" The elderly tutor bowed his head in a silent good bye, though his student was no longer looking in his direction, then disapperated from the study room. Brent reached the door to the private tutoring rooms first, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Think Kib'll want to hear this?" 

Clarence figured the three year old probably would, but he didn't want to waste the time tracking him down. "Nah. He's too little. He'll tell Mum and Father." Though three years the twins' senior, Brent took his word for it, and they entered the first of the tutoring rooms. This was empty, so they hardly paused before passing through it to the next. Jansten and his tutor were in the second. 

Their current oldest brother looked up from the book he was hunched over with an annoyed look. "What are you three midgets up to now?" 

Brent looked mildly offended by the term of address, but Clarence and especially Menteron were so used to it from both their father and most of their older brothers, that they hardly noticed. "Valr's got a story for us," Menteron answered readily. 

"He met a Muggle last Halloween and made him think he was a ghost," Clarence added. "See-through and everything." Jansten rolled his eyes apparently disintrested, but Clarence knew he was hooked. If nothing else, it offered another way to try to get Valr in trouble. A goal Jansten had been unsuccessful with for almost two years. 

The three younger Tragyls passed through to the next room, and finally found Valr. Unlike Jansten, Valr welcomed the interruption, looking up at them with relief and gratitude. "What's up?" 

Clarence hid a smile as he noticed Jansten come in behind them. "Tell us about the time you haunted Harvey the Muggle." 

Valr started in guilty surprise, but covered quickly, "Need a better room for that story." Good, he wasn't going to deny it. He just needed time to decided what fictional elements to add and which actual events to take out. Clarence considered asking what was wrong with their present location, but decided his brother had a point. The private tutoring rooms were designed with one child and one adult in mind. Not five children and one adult. 

The tutor frowned. "Your lesson is not finished." 

Valr stole a quick look at the clock. "There's only five more minutes left. Please?" 

The middle aged woman regarded him sternly, making Valr fidget. Then she sighed in defeat. "You weren't paying attention before, now you'll be impossible. I want you to read the rest of this chapter and try to understand it. Then do the rest of the excersises at the end." 

Valr beamed at her. "Thank you!" Then he turned to his brothers, his tutor (and probably his assignment) forgotten. "Last one to the sitting room is a rotten egg!" 

Apparently Jansten didn't care if he was a rotten egg, but the other brothers raced each other through three tutoring rooms, out of the large study room, down the hall and stairs, across the foyer, and into the sitting room. Due to cheating, Valr reached it first. In the foyer, a push from behind had sent Menteron into Brent, making both boys fall. With only the much shorter Clarence left blocking his way, Valr took the lead steps from the finish room, and took the prize of not being a rotten egg. In second place, Clarence took the runner's up prize: also not being a rotten egg. Brent and Menteron untangled themselves, and scrambled to their feet and across the remaining seven feet to the sitting room. Menteron scrambled faster, gaining him enough of a lead to take the third place prize of still not being a rotten egg. 

The last of the racers into the room, Brent took fourth place. "You're a rotten e-egg!" Menteron taunted, ignoring the fact that he'd only just barely beat his older brother. 

"Am not! Jansten's not here yet! And Valr cheated!" 

"Did not!" Valr denied. "We didn't set any rules against pushing!" 

"It was sort of implied," Brent argued back. 

"What part of 'last one to the sitting room is a rotten egg' implies that?" 

It occured to Clarence then that the game was pretty stupid. Even if they had all raced and even if no one had cheated (if one can cheat with no rules defined) the loser _still_ wouldn't be a rotten egg. At that moment, Jansten walked into the room, sneering a little at his his arguing brothers. He looked perfectly human to Clarence and not at all like a rotten egg. Despite this, Menteron declared in a sing-song voice, "Jansten's a rotten e-egg!" 

Jansten shrugged, unconcerned. Despite being the last one there, he got his choice of chairs, as everyone else was still standing. He took the cushy rocker in the corner, and asked, "So what was this about transparency, Valr?" 

"Mum did warn him about eating all of his dinner," Brent remarked, taking one of the spots on the couch. "He's just wasting away on us." 

Clarence thought that was supposed to be funny, so he smirked a little and took another spot on the couch. The joke went completely over Menteron's head, and he looked at Brent in confusion, giving Valr time to take the couch's last spot. Left with the choice of a hard, wooden rocker and the itchy green armchair, Menteron crossed his ankles and dropped down to the floor. 

Ignoring Brent's attempt at a joke, Valr leaned forward, then individually met each of their gazes. Clarence discovered, somewhat to his surprise, that he had copied the pose. As had Menteron and Brent. Jansten was sitting stiffly enough in the comfortable rocker that Clarence guessed he was putting willpower into not leaning forward. 

"Halloween, 1983," Valr began in a low, mysterious voice as though the year was decades earlier instead of just months. "It was a dark day." Clarence wasn't sure, but he was fairly certain last Halloween had been sunny. "Dark and cold." He did grant Valr the cold part. "Lessons had been cancelled for the holiday, and we had mostly gathered in the family room." Sounded about right, Clarence conceded. He vaguely recalled most of last Halloween had been spent in the large family room with the majority of his family. "Harris had begun a tournament of exploding snap, and convinced you four to join him," Valr nodded at Jansten, Brent, and each of the twins in turn, confirming their whereabout during the following events, grounding his story to indisputable events in hopes that credibility would transfer to what followed. Of them, Clarence suspected only Menteron of being that gullible. 

"Since I don't really like playing Exploding Snap, and with Kib and Tryna far too young to do anything fun with, I decided a walk in the rain would be nice." Raining now? The day's weather kept getting worse. Before he just claimed it was dark. Though, going out into a storm was definitely a Valr kind of thing to do. And it added a nice dramatic touch to the story. He wondered briefly if he was remembering wrong, or whether it truly had been sunny. Then he dismissed the doubt, reminding himself that this was _Valr_ telling the story. His uncertain memory of that day was, by far, the more reliable. 

"I had reached the point of the Troll Attack," this was a clearing about a hundred yards from the front, left corner of the house, out in the woods that surrounded the Tragyl Residence. The clearing's name had originated when Harris and Jansten had been ambushed there by Valr and Brent, who had been pretending to be Trolls at the time. Clarence had been only two back then, but the spot had been pointed out on multiple occassions and became a landmark of sorts. 

"When, all of a sudden, I heard the sound of voices." Valr's voice lifted about an octive, "'Haunted, you say, Jason?' the first voice asked, sounding very nervous. 'Haunted,' repeated the other. I crept forward," Valr rose from his chair and demonstrated, hunched over and making exaggerated steps like a bad actor playing a worse villian. "Keeping behind trees, because these were voices I had never heard before." Valr seemed to have fogotten he had set the scene in a clearing. 

"I came upon them, and they weren't much older than me." Billy had said Harvey was seven, which put him at exactly Valr's age. Jason, Clarence hadn't heard of yet. "Muggles. Naturally, I felt it my duty to discourage them from tresspassing." Clarence didn't have any basis to judge this statement. Statistically speaking, though, it was probably a lie. 

"Since it was Halloween, after all, I decided the best course of action was to scare them away, so I bravely charged toward them. That I turned partially transparent was as much a surprise to me as to them. They thought I was some kind of avenging spirit, and so promptly turned tail and ran." He nodded decisively. "And that's what happened. I choose not to tell Mum and Father about it because I did magic in front of Muggles, and they probably wouldn't have been happy that Muggles were on the property to begin with. Father, in particular, might have done something the neighbors would regret." 

Jansten made a sound that, if Clarence hadn't know better, might have been a laugh. But since Jansten never laughs at Valr's jokes, his second oldest brother must have simply coughed. 

* * *

Valr watched his brothers file from the sitting room, dropping back into the cushions of the couch, not quite showing relief. That would be very stupid. He was glad none of his brothers, who doubtless believed his story about as much as they believed that the tooth faery was really a sixty-seven year old Muggle man with spiked green hair, didn't press for the true events. Not that he didn't have two or three more fake versions to go through. Not that they would have believe the truth even a little bit more than his fictional story. If anything, what had really happened last Halloween was even less believable. Though it was surprising that Jansten hadn't tried to get a version out of him that left Valr in less of a noble and blameless role. 

In truth, there had been a _very_ good reason he hadn't informed his parents and siblings of the events until now. He'd been thinking up alibis since it had happened, in the paranoid chance that somehow it was discovered. He was very thankful now that he had. 

Because if even a hint of what truly happened reached his parent's ears, it would be _Mother_ advocating the harshest punishment her often underestimated creativity could devise. Because not even his Slytherin Father would approve of the, uh, 'acquisition' Valr had obtained almost three years ago. As a four year old boy-wizard, he had understood what a wand looked like, and that it was a very important and grown-up thing to have. As a four year old boy-wizard, he still hadn't completely understood the concepts of 'mine' and 'not-mine'. As a drunken, bitter, old wizard, Grandfather Tragyl hadn't even noticed his wand was missing until he tried to draw it when the aurors came to arrest him. 

When the ministry searched his person and his house and failed to find the old man's wand, his wife assumed he had incompetantly lost it after one to many trips to the pub. His younger son assumed his father had cleverly hid it, and confirmed his mother's story, fully expecting a prison break in the near future. No one suspected that it had lain in the bottom of four-year-old Valr Tragyl's toybox since his last visit to his grandparents house, one day before his grandfather's arrest. 

Almost three years later, seven-year-old Valr Tragyl wanted to keep it that way. Of course, it hadn't stayed idle for all that time. Since that Halloween afternoon, Valr had learned to successfully cast the invisibilty charm he'd read about in the family library. Pity it hadn't worked quite right just before the Muggles showed up and startled him nearly to death. Then he could have _really_ scared them instead of the other way around.   
  
  


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	10. Slytherin Girls

Tragyls at Hogwarts: 1984 Chapter Nine: Slytherin Girls 

Avery and Martin were quiet friday morning, and didn't look at him, even when he tripped over his own fallen pillow. Ignoring him or avoiding him, then. After last night, Harris preferred it that way. News must have travelled fast, because the few third years sitting in the common room turned away when he passed through. He couldn't tell if they were embarrassed more by him or by what Avery had done. Whichever, it was Harris who'd take the shunning. He reminded himself that he didn't care. 

"Harris!" a girl's voice called out as he walked through Hogwart's halls. 

Harris froze, and forced a pleasant expression onto his face as he turned around. "Hello, Aurora," he greeted her with a smile that he hoped reached his eyes. Aurora had an uncanny ability of being able to recognize false kindness. Maybe she'd seen too much of it since her family died. 

Whether or not she noticed anything amiss in his expression, she had better things to talk about, "Tell me about Evalyn, Madeline, and Candice. What are they like?" 

Harris frowned. "Madeline and Candice are alright, I guess. They're probably the nicest people in Slytherin House." Which wasn't saying much. They were more like Mum's relatives, ignoring him quietly and trying not to get noticed. "Evalyn," he continued, filling the name with venom, "is Slytherin to the core. And that's not a compliment." Though Evalyn would likely take as one anyway. 

Aurora smirked. "I didn't think it was," she returned drily. 

Harris blushed faintly. Of course _Aurora_ wouldn't take that way even if he _had_ meant it as a good thing. "Right," he mumbled. Then, to shift her attention back to the topic at hand without futher embarassment, he asked, "Why do you ask?" 

Her mild amusement vanished into a scowl. "I'm trying to figure out what their game is." 

Anger and protectiveness filled him. "Have they been bothering you?" 

She shook her head, but her scowl deepened. "That's just it. They've been being _nice_ to me." The look she shot him then held no anger, only utter bafflement. "I don't understand. I was hoping you might know what they're after." That they might actually wish to be nice to her out of human friendliness apparently never occured to her. Nor should it, really, come to think of it. 

Harris smirked at her. "Hadn't realized they were going through with it." 

Aurora caught up the bait eagerly. "What? Going through with what?" 

"I guess Evalyn wasn't joking after all," Harris commented idly, letting his friend dangle in her curiosity. It wasn't something she was used to anymore. Nobody toyed with Aurora these days. She was too scary. Even the brave Gryffindors avoided her for the most part. 

She flushed angrily. "Harris! You know what's going on! Tell me!" 

Ignoring her tone, he leaned toward her as though about to tell her a secret. Her ire slipped away as she unconsciously mimicked his motion conspiratorily. Harris gloated silently. His childhood friend was still in there somewhere. "It started on Monday, I think," he whispered, ready to make the short story long. Aurora nodded eagerly, lapping it up. Harris suddenly understood Valr's glee when he was telling one of his stories. He forced himself not to reveal the storyteller's delight that fired Valr's eyes when he held an audience captive. It tended to make said audience skeptical. Either that or it was just Valr's reputation. 

"It was just after Evalyn got her detention for arguing with Avery after Transfiguration," Harris continued, barely noticing that they had entered the Great Hall. Aurora walked down the aisle beside the Gryffindor table, and Harris followed, still talking low, "Candi and Mad told Ev about how the Gryffs had tried to adopt me." He realized with a start he had picked up one of Valr's story telling habits: giving people nicknames. Aurora was smirking at him again, which he took as a good sign, so he decided to continue with the practice. 

She took a seat at the Gryffindor table. Engrossed in his story, Harris took the spot next to her. He didn't register the odd looks he was gathering from Charlie and the other Eggmen, and only half-consciously returned their confused 'good morning's, before turning his attention back to Aurora, who made no mention of his misplaced seating. "So then Ev made some comment about there not being enough Slytherins as it was without the Gryffs stealing off one of them. We, being good little Slytherins, decided to seek revenge." 

Harris had enough presence of mind to realize his audience size had increased, so he raised his voice just loud enough to include them, though they still had to lean forward to catch all of it. He stifled a grin as he tortured them by taking the time to pull a pancake onto his plate, and pour a generous helping of syrup on it. "For the crime of attempted conversion, Gryffindor's punishment was to be the corruption and subversion of one of their number." He met each of his listener's eyes, to increase the drama of the story and pull them in. "The only question was who." 

The Eggmen looked at each other, mock-suspiciously. 

"Mad suggested Charlie, determined to take Cousin for Cousin." Eyes drifted to the red haired boy. "Rejected for his Gryffindor family name, Ev opened the floor for other suggestions. As a muggleborn, Candi thought Walrus was put in Gryff by default, and so might fit in Slytherin better than any Gryff pureblood. But then Ev sought my advice." 

The Eggmen leaned forward, caught in the story, and curious about Harris' suggestion on which of them was the most Slytherinish. Aurora narrowed her eyes, having enough information to guess the rest of the story. "This is your fault then?" she asked, breaking the spell his quiet voice had woven. 

"You said _Aurora_?" Pam asked, incredulously. 

Harris smirked at her. "That is almost exactly how Ev, Candi, and Mad reacted, too." 

"I'll kill you," Aurora told him conversationally. 

Harris looked quickly back at her, only a trace of his panic visible in his expression. "Figured you would," he remarked, trying to sound casual and unconcerned. This was Aurora. He refused to be publically frightened by her. "That's why I suggested you." 

"Oh. So you're suicidal." 

Harris shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Actually, I thought homocidal revenge a reasonably Slytherin kind of thing to do." 

"Trickster. Now I can't kill you without proving you right." 

Harris smirked at her, his fear suddenly gone. She was _joking_ with him. "I am a Slytherin," he pointed out. 

"Which point begs the question, why are you sitting here?" a soft, velvety voice asked from behind him. 

Harris jumped to his feet quickly enough to send the chair clattering over backwards. "Professor Snape!" he exclaimed, eyes wide as it dawned on him that he was eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table. "I, I, I don't know." _Real bright, Harris._

"You. Don't. Know,"Snape repeated, slowly and scathingly. Harris flinched and looked down at his feet. Apparently, whatever goodwill the potions professor had gained for him last night was now gone. "I hope you do know the way to the Slytherin table from here?" 

"Yes, sir," Harris whispered, not looking up. Slytherin table was the last place he wanted to be, especially now. He didn't want to know how they'd take to his starting breakfast with the Gryffindors. Whatever kept Avery and Martin quiet this morning might not survive this new offense. 

"Why can't he stay here?" Walrus asked suddenly, surprising both Slytherins. The other Eggmen voiced their agreement, too, quickly enough for Harris to suspect that their support was mostly to prevent Walrus from standing out on a limb by himself in front of Snape. 

The professor sneered, but did not come up with a reason before Aurora spoke. 

"I'd like him to stay, Professor." 

Snape looked taken aback, but astonishingly, he only nodded. "Very well then," he sneered. His robes swirled as he stalked away. Harris stared after him, jaw hanging half-open. He was not alone. 

"Wow," Charlie breathed. "Thought we'd all get detention." 

"Lose points at best," Tommy agreed. 

"Sit down, Harris," Aurora instructed. "And close your trap before you catch something." She looked around at the other Gryffindors. "That goes for you, too," she told them with a smirk. 

Harris did as she ordered. "Why did he listen to you?" 

"I think I scare him," she said, shrugging, as though frightening the intimidating potions teacher was the most normal thing in the world. 

The Eggmen's stunned looks shifted from the professor's retreating back to their classmate. Harris could read quite clearly from their expressions that Snape was not alone in that. 

Ignoring them, she returned the conversation to its original track. "So, Harris, you're telling me that those Slytherin girls are being nice to me because you said I should be made into a psuedo-Slytherin?" 

"That was the plan before it became common belief that these guys succeeded in Gryffindorizing me," Harris jerked a thumb at the Eggmen. "Not sure if or how it changed since then." 

"Before I kill you I will give you one chance to explain why me." 

"Know thine enemy. Same reason Jansten wants in." 

She shook her head, denying the excuse. "You honestly think those three have Dark potential? Or that they'd tell me anything useful, even if they did? They know who I am." 

Harris shrugged. "Probably not, though I wouldn't put anything past Evalyn, if she decided it was in her best interest. Madeline's just quiet. I don't know a thing about her beyond the fact that both of her parents came from France. On the other hand, Candice is on our side. Her mum was an Auror, and her dad's a muggle. I think her family is or was friendly with the Hollands. You might be a good contact for her if she finds something out and doesn't want to do anything about it personally." 

"Harris, you are not suggesting I go _along_ with this thing, are you?" Aurora asked with a dark glower. 

Harris smiled cheerfully at her. "Of course I am. I have a deathwish, remember?" 

The glower did not visibly change, but it was somehow less baleful now, with the barest hint of teasing. "So I see," she growled. "And what do you get out of this? Besides death at my hand, that is." 

"Well, for the time between when you make them your friends, and the instant the last of my lifeblood drips to the floor, I won't be the only multihouse freak. We will begin the beginning of the revolution. Between us, we can continue the cause that my parents took up thirteen years ago and break down the barriers of interhouse rivalry!" 

Aurora rolled her eyes, but Harris could see she was amused. He gave himself a mental grin of triumph. So what if he sounded like a fool? "Has anyone told you that you are insane?" 

"Not really. I just didn't sleep well last night. Or the night before. Or the night before that. Or before that. Or -" 

"I get the idea. You're running the ragged end of exhaustion and are therefore not responsible for the things that pop out of your mouth. I suppose you expect that to keep me from killing you?" 

Harris smiled sweetly at her. "It wouldn't be very sporting to take me out now, you know." 

"Slytherins aren't very big on being sporting. And you're trying to get me Slytherinized." 

Harris frowned in mock consideration. "Hmm. You've a point there. I suppose you should kill me now." 

"But that would just put you out of your misery, and Slytherins aren't supposed to be merciful." 

Harris nodded thoughtfully. "True, too true." 

"I'll have to torture you first." 

"Ah!" Harris exclaimed, as though in discovery, "So that's why we're having so long a conversation!" 

Aurora laughed. A short bark of one, but a real laugh none-the-less. "No, that's just self-punishment, Harris." 

"Sorry, my mistake." 

She looked at him, her eyes twinkling. Harris only barely contained himself from jumping up in glee. Aurora was visibly happy and almost acting like her old self. "So I'm not supposed to be forgiving anymore, right? As a Slytherin wannabe?" 

"Depends on the Slytherin and what your goals are." 

"My goal is to kill you." Okay, perhaps not quite like her old self yet. 

Harris nodded sagely, "Then you'd best not forgive me." 

"That's what I thought, too. I think I'm getting the hang of this." 

"Now you just need to make nice with Evalyn, Madeline, and Candice." 

Her joking air popped, and her expression hardened. "No." 

"Why not? Do they scare you that much?" With six younger brothers, he was well experienced in provoking people into doing something they normally wouldn't. 

Real anger now. Harris forced himself to stand his ground. Aurora shouldn't be any scarier than his own siblings. "I am not afraid of anyone!" she griped through clenched teeth. 

"So you'll talk to them, nicely?" 

"No!" Evidently manipulating Aurora would be a bit more difficult than manipulating five year old Menteron. 

"Why not?" 

She glowered at him again. She was really very good at it. Harris let his stomach quail but not his face. "Why not?" she repeated incredulously, "They're Slytherins!" 

Harris flinched. "So am I." 

She made a dismissive gesture. "You don't count." 

He clamped down on his anger as firmly as he did his fear. "I am Slytherin," he said coolly. "That you happen to like me doesn't change that." 

"You don't like them either. Why should I go to the people who you rejected?" 

Harris felt like she had just delived a physical blow. "I didn't," he whispered. "They rejected me." 

"Even better!" she exclaimed sarcastically. "They won't even accept the only decent one of their own. What chance have I?" 

Anger bubbled within him, but he held it in check. "I've been branded traitor. Of course they won't accept me. Harboring traitors is dangerous. But with Evalyn trying to befriend you, you're golden. Not even Avery crosses her." 

"As I recall, they fought outside of Tranfigurations on Monday." 

"He was going to bully me. Evalyn crossed _him_, to defend me." 

"But she's dropped you now." 

Harris nodded, unable speak for fear of his voice cracking. 

"What happens to me when she loses interest in her convert then? The Gryffindor girls are already afraid of me. I can't imagine hanging out with Slytherins will improve my image." 

"So what's there to lose? Sure, I wouldn't trust Evalyn farther than you could throw her, but I think you could do well with Candice and maybe even Madeline. They're not bad people, 'Rora." 

"I don't know. Ev's pretty small. I think I could throw her pretty far." 

Harris grinned at the unexpected joke, even though she ignored his main point. "Ok, I wouldn't trust her farther than my sister Tryna could throw her." 

Aurora raised her brows. "You finally have a sister?" 

"She's two." 

Aurora smirked. "That's better, then." Harris was pretty sure she meant that to refer to the amended trusting distance, rather than the addition to his family. 

"So you'll give the Slytherins a chance?" 

She gave him a long hard look. "I don't see why you care. They're awful to you." 

"They're my House. So you'll do it?" 

"Once. If I don't like it, I'm out." 

Harris smiled at her. "That's all I ask." 

She grabbed another muffin, and swept out of the great hall. Harris dropped his head into his hands, relieved and exhausted. 

"What was that all about?" Pam asked, giving him little chance for recovery. 

Harris took another bite of his pancake, to gain time. "What was what about?" he asked, playing innocent. There were any number of things that the Eggmen might be wondering about. 

"Why do you want her Slytherinized? Isn't she scary enough?" 

Harris looked at her. She shifted uncomfortably. "Aurora was my best friend for years before her family was killed. Since you Gryffindors won't befriend her, I'll find her friends where I can. Candice's mother was killed by You-Know-Who, too, so she might even help Aurora move on. Merlin knows no one else has." 

"What about you?" Charlie asked. 

"What about me?" 

He made a small gesture to her empty chair. "You're good with each other. Haven't seen that much life in either of you before, really. Why can't you be her friend?" 

"I am. But she needs more than one. And her guardians categorically refuse to let us visit each other." 

"Why?" 

Harris stabbed his last piece of pancake as though it mortally insulted him. "Since Grandfather was sent to Azkaban, they think that we Tragyls are all Death Eaters in the making. Now that I'm Slytherin, they'll feel justified in their beliefs." 

Unfortunately, it would be six years before Menteron become a Gryffindor to show them the error of their ways. And as far as Harris was concerned, Jansten and Valr may as well already be Slytherins, and Brent was a lot like himself. Sometimes too much so for comfort. Slytherin or, hopefully, Hufflepuff for him. Menteron was the first sure Gryffindor. Clarence's early Sorting into Ravenclaw wouldn't change anything. He was too young to have been fully indoctrined. A Ravenclaw? At only five? The boy was going to be dangerously cunning when he got older. 

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Pam declared. Harris felt gratified that the other Eggmen offered their emphatic agreement without hesitation. And they didn't even know his brothers. 

* * *

Neither Gryffindor nor Slytherin first years had a class directly after breakfast, so the Eggmen went outside to take advantage of the clear, warm weather. The Hufflepuff twins and some others soon approached them asking for a continuation of the freeze tag game. It didn't take long before the game had grown to include most of the Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw first years, and even some second years. To no one's surprise, Harris remained the only Slytherin. Aurora never appeared either. 

All too soon, the Gryffindors and Harris had to leave for their second flying lesson of the week. The game continued on without them, as they crossed the school grounds to the shed where the brooms were kept. They were mildly surprised to find that only Madam Hooch had beat them to it. Evalyn, Candice, Madeline, and Aurora arrived next. Harris tried to read his friend's expression, but couldn't. She did continue to stand with them, which Harris took as a good sign. Avery and Martin arrived last, just shy of being late. 

The lesson went little better than the previous one. Harris continued to be appalled by his classmate's lack of skill, and they continued to endanger themselves and anyone unfortunate enough to be next them. Harris had prudently put himself between Charlie and Brian, both of whom had proven to be decent fliers last time. 

Either through miracle, magic, or chance, none of the day's collisions resulted in serious injury or death. When Walrus lost control and flew into the Slytherin line, Harris had hoped accident might claim Avery, but no such luck. Both boys stood up, dusted themselves off, and started arguing. 

When class was over, and the brooms put away, Harris tried to single out Aurora, but she had already gone. Evalyn, Madeline, and Candice were also no where to be seen. "Did Aurora leave with the Slytherin girls?" he asked Charlie, as he joined the loitering group of Eggmen. 

"Didn't notice. She came in with them, and stood with them during the lesson." 

"I saw that," Harris remarked, only barely remembering to curb disdain. Charlie was his friend and cousin, and was therefore entitled to state the obvious without getting sneered at. By Harris anyway. 

"Good thing you're here to tell us these things, Weasel. I'd wondered who everybody was staring at," Walrus drawled. "We're mostly used the the Slytherin in our line, so it wasn't Harris this time." 

"Leave off, Walrus, nobody was staring at anyone, except maybe you when you ran into Avery." 

Walrus looked offeded. "I did not 'run into' him. I crashed into him in a glorious flurry of robes, brooms, arms, and legs. Somehow, I think even fists got mixed in there." 

Harris smirked. "I stand corrected." 

"Good," Walrus nodded decisively. Then he turned more serious. "People did keep looking at her, though. More discreetely than we did when you sat with us in Potions, of course. We're more scared of Aurora. But there were looks, from both Gryffindors and Slytherins. When she caught me at it, she glared so bad I lost concentration and the broom went wild. Managed to control it enough to hit Avery instead of her." He sounded quite proud of this feat. 

"Walrus, don't take this the wrong way, but don't bother even trying out for your Quiddich team." 

The muggle-born boy grinned at him. "I don't know. I might confuse the opposing team enough . . ." 

Charlie laughed. "Wouldn't make up for how confused you'd be. Not to mention dangerous to the rest of us." 

"Already put yourself on the team, eh, Cousin?" Harris was mildly surprised to see Charlie blush at his words. Sure, he teased the other boy about the assumption, but Harris had made the same one two days ago. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Charlie. You're gonna be on the team, don't worry about it." 

He still looked decidedly embarrassed, but was able to return the compliment, "You're a pretty good flier yourself, coz." 

Harris shrugged, "Yeah, but Slytherin try-outs might not be exactly unbiased." 

Charlie looked surprised. "Oh, yeah. I forgot you weren't a Gryffindor." 

Harris stared at him for a very long moment. He wasn't sure if he should feel honored or insulted. On the one hand, his cousin had obviously fully accepted him into his fold of friends. Quite possibly the others had as well. On the opposite side, Harris didn't _want_ to be a Gryffindor. He had thought he had made that perfectly clear. He felt his expression closing, or maybe turning defensive. "I'm not," was all he said, before hurrying away. He thought he heard one of them call his name, but he didn't acknowledge them. 

* * *

Lunch was a painful affair that day. Well, not physically, like the previous night had been, but definitely unpleasant. "So, Tragyl's decided to join us today after all," Avery remarked loudly to Martin as Harris took his customary seat across from him. 

Harris decided that ignoring the comment might make the situation go away. He realized a moment later the foolishness of such a thought. Whether or not it prevented quicker escalation was another matter entirely, but it certainly wouldn't make anything 'go away'. 

"I'd hoped he might stay with the Gryffindorks," Avery continued, this time looking at Evalyn. 

She shrugged neutrally. "Maybe you didn't hit him hard enough last night to completely drive him away," she commented with enough disapproval and superority to make Harris wonder if it was warning not to try anything of the sort again, or a criticism that the attack wasn't powerful enough. He suspected she'd _probably_ meant it as the former but feared Avery would take as the latter. He only hoped Professor Snape's warning would stay their hands a while yet. 

Harris pushed his vegtables around on his plate, not hungry. He stole a look toward Gryffindor's table, where the Eggmen were laughing about something. His stomoch roiled, and he regretted the few bites he had taken. It just wasn't fair. Everyone else in the Hall seemed to enjoy mealtimes. He, on the other hand, could barely get through one without being threatened, insulted, and dangerously close to violently ill. 

"Something wrong with your food, Tragyl?" Martin asked with a glint in his eye that Harris did not trust at all. Instead of answering, Harris just contined his vegtable relocation effort. Since he was studying his fork and peas, the rainstorm of pumpkin juice onto his plate took him completely by surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tragyl, my hand slipped," Martin said in a voice that indicated just the opposite. "But maybe it'll taste better this way." 

Harris didn't dare look up at him, knowing there'd be yet another fight if he did. So he slowly put down his fork, and stood up, his gaze never leaving his drowned plate. "I need to get my Herbology book," he excused himself, and left the Great Hall. Behind him, he heard Avery and Martin's laughter. It wasn't at all like the carefree joyful laughter the Eggmen enjoyed. Harris suddenly felt no taller than Menteron. 

In an effort to distract himself, he focused on the rest of the day's agenda: Herbology directly after lunch followed by Defence Against the Dark Arts, both with Ravenclaw. Herbology shouldn't be bad, as long as Avery and Emily Holland continue to avoid each other. But Charlie said Bill said Defense was as bad as, if not worse than, potions. Professor Wallsby was Head of Slytherin House, whereas Snape was just a Slytherin alumus. Wallsby's class had one redeeming factor, though. Slytherin and Gryffindor weren't sharing the same class period. There would, therefore, be less opportunity to provoke Wallsby by sitting and talking with the Eggmen. 

The disadvantage, of course, was that he didn't know who he _should_ sit with now. Make nice with the Ravenclaws or suffer through with the Slytherins? Hmm. Well, that wasn't a difficult choice. 

That left the question of which Ravenclaws to befriend. He knew a handful through playing tag. Where 'knowing' is defined as 'being able to match name and face'. Not much of a strong relationship base. A start, though. And tag was a friendly activity. He thought it was enough to justify sitting next to one of them in class. 

He was the first to arrive in Greenhouse 1 for Herbology class. Something about skipping out of lunch after only ten minutes had put him ahead of schedule. Even Professor Sprout wasn't there yet. He took a stool and began to read the first chapter of the text to pass the time. He could already tell that Herbology was not going to be one of his favorites. Not quite as dead boring as History of Magic, but quite possibly a close second, unless Sprout made the subject a lot more interesting than the text did. 

He was glad when Emily Holland interrupted his reading simply by entering the greenhouse. He smiled at her. "Hello." 

She looked at him consideringly. "You're Clarence's brother," she identified him after a moment. 

Right. The little firetop had first claim on the loyalty of the Ravenclaws. Hopefully, the kid hadn't said anything too awful about him. "Yeah," he reluctantly agreed to her label of him. He wasn't sure he wanted to be known as 'Clarence's brother'. There was something inherently wrong about being identified as the sibling of someone six years his junior by someone his own age. _Clarence_ should be called _Harris's_ brother, not the other way around. What was the advantage of being oldest, otherwise? 

"He's sweet," Emily informed him. Fortunate, that. Harris wouldn't have known if she hadn't told him. His family had a lot of words to describe Clarence, but 'sweet' was rarely one of them. Well, except for Mother, but what could you expect from her? Clarence was obviously her favorite. 

"The firetop?" 

Emily laughed, a light-hearted sound that was a far cry from either Avery's snickering or the Eggmen's boisterous humor. "Is that his nickname?" 

Harris shrugged, uncertain if it was exactly a nickname. Usually his father used it more as an insult. "More or less. Father's called him that since he set a couch on fire three years ago." 

She laughed again. "Bet that didn't go over well." 

"If it hadn't been accidental magic, at the age of two, it would have been worse. As it was, my parents weren't sure if they should be more stunned, angry, or proud. By that point, not even Jansten had done his first magic yet, and he's five years older than Clarence is." Harris smirked. "Of course, not to be shown up by a two-year-old git, Jansten did his magic about a week later. Quite spectalarly levitated two of my brothers high into the air. Lulli, our house elf, had to use magic to get them down safely again." 

"So what's Jansten called now? Flyboy?" 

Harris had to smother a snort. "Nah. He's still just Jansten." 

"Hmph. That hardly seems fair. What about you? You have a nickname?" 

He shrugged. "The Eggmen, well, actually, just Walrus, calls me Snake. Haven't figured out if that's because he's bitter about being called Walrus, of if he's so pleased with it that he thinks everyone should have an animal name." 

"Walrus," she repeated softly, her eyes losing focus, then sharpening again. "Gryffindor first year. About yay-high," she held her hand about two inches above her own head, "Brown hair?" 

Harris nodded. "Muggle-born wearing muggle high-top sneakers all the time." 

She nodded decisively. "Know the one. Heard he's been friendly with a Slytherin." Her eye fell to his Slytherin badge, and she blushed. "No offense." 

He shrugged. "I don't mind. I'm the Slytherin he's friendly with. Him and the Eggmen." 

"The Eggmen?" 

Harris nodded. "That's what a group of first years are calling themselves. I think the group includes all the Gryffindor boys, plus Pam - she's Gryffindor, too - plus me. We're named after some muggle song." 

"You're the fake Slytherin, then? I heard -" 

"I'm very much a real Slytherin," he interrupted, offended, but curiousity forced him to continue without waiting for a response to that, "What did you hear about me?" 

She gave him an odd look. "That you play tag with the other three Houses." 

He looked disappointed. _That_ wasn't very juicy gossip. With all the trouble he'd been through, the rumour mill should have at least given him a little scandalous slander to need to refute. Then he realized that this was a good thing and that he shouldn't complain. 

Her eyes twinkled in a way that he defintely didn't like. "Oh, and that you're a Death Eater trying to lessen suspicion against himself and you plan to destroy Hogwarts by the end of the year in revenge for the destruction of your Lord." 

He narrowed his eyes. "You're making that up." 

She looked innocent. "Merlin's honest truth! I heard it from Justin who heard it from Jake who heard it from the Hufflepuff twins who heard it from their prefect who heard it from Professor Sprout who heard it from Dumbledore himself." 

"And this rumour named me specifically?" 

"You are Clarence's brother, aren't you?' 

Harris smirked, suddenly realizing something. "You don't know my name, do you?" 

She tried to look insulted, but that quickly turned to a sheepish grin. "Beyond 'Tragyl', I haven't the foggiest. Though if you tell me, I'm sure I'll smack my head and say 'I _knew_ that'." 

Wanting to see just that sight, Harris told her, "Harris." 

She did indeed smack her forehead and say, "I _knew_ that!" 

He hesitated a second before asking, "People don't really think I'm a Death Eater, do they?" 

She gave him a sidelong look. "Of course not, silly. I made that up because you looked so upset that the worst I had to say about you was that you play tag." 

Harris gave himself a self-directed sneer. "For some Slytherins, _that_ is the greater of the two evils." 

She shrugged. "Not you, though. Your mum is a Weasley." As if that had anything to do with his political orientation. He'd never met a Weasley besides Mum until he met Arthur and his twins at Diagon Alley. 

He looked away. "And my Grandfather is in Azkaban. I'm sure I know which he'd prefer I was doing." 

She looked surprised. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn't have teased . . . I thought your family was like Candice's; firmly on the right side, even if you are in Slytherin." He thought he should make some kind of defense to that decidedly biased statement, but figured it was close enough to true to not be worth the effort or embarassment. 

He shrugged. "Grandfather supported You-Know-Who in all but deed, and was a bit too vocal about it. Grandmother keeps threatening to disown father for his Gryffindor-ish attitudes, though all he does is avoid the subject of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named altogether. Though Mum talks against Him enough for both of them. And Father surely knows supporting Him would be grounds for divorce, if not imprisonment. And that's not something he's going to risk. So my immediate family is fairly firmly placed the 'right' side," he concluded, "but we're the only branch of the Tragyl family that is." And if that bit of news got back to Auror Holland, and his uncle and grandmother got arrested, he wasn't going to feel at all guilty. He didn't particularly care for his Tragyl relatives. 

The discussion ended as Professor Sprout entered the greenhouse, followed by a group of Ravenclaws, who took stools on the other side of Emily. The rest of the class soon trickled in, and the lecture began. Harris was impressed that Sprout was able to make the subject as interesting as she did, though it still wasn't going to win any excitment awards. At least, not until some later year when the plants they dealt with would become downright terrifying. Assuming he lived that long. Then the plants would have their turn to threaten his life. Wouldn't that be fun. He tried to remember why he hadn't just gone to muggle school. 

Oh, yeah. Muggles killed wizards, burning them at the stake. Which was a lot more embarrassing than wizards killing wizards, but better than plants killing wizards. He'd just have to make sure it was another wizard that killed him and not some overgrown piece of vegetation. 

Herbology finished without incident, and the whole class trudged over to the DADA classroom together. Harris manged to sit between Emily another Ravenclaw he knew only as 'Jake'. Wallsby entered, and scowled at the class in general, and him in particular, or so it seemed to Harris. For some reason he couldn't quite understand, he didn't feel the same need to excel in his Head of House's class as he had for Snape's. 

They seemed two peas to the pod, so why did one inspire him to defiant acedemic pursuit, and the other only made him indifferent to his subject? He supposed it was because Wallsby had only spoken to him once, and Snape seemed to pop up everywhere. Come to think of it, why had the younger professor been the one to break up the fight in the dormitory, instead of the Head of House? As far as he could tell, Wallsby didn't even know about the previous night's disturbance. 

The Slytherin Head of House began his class with a short question and answer session, where he asked Avery, Evalyn, and Martin simple questions and rewarded them with points, and asked Ravenclaws difficult questions (which more often than not they still got right) and awarded no points, or took points away. Towards the end of the session, he fired a medium-difficulty one in Candice's direction. 

She froze. Harris looked at her curiously. True, it was the first time a teacher seemed to notice her, but surely she wasn't that shy? He'd believe it of Madeline, possibly, but not Candice. Evalyn, sitting between Candice and Avery, nudged her discreetly. "I, I don't know, sir," she said, though Harris suspected that it was more that she either hadn't heard the question or had forgotten it in her panic at being addressed, rather than that she didn't know. 

"Interesting," he murmured, though it sounded more like 'pitiful' to Harris. "I'd have expected better of your mother's daughter," he sneered slightly. Not nearly as badly as he would to a student of another House, but still unpleasantly. Candice paled, then flushed in anger. Wisely, she did not respond to the baiting. The professor turned to Harris next and asked a Ravenclaw level question. 

Unlike potions and Herbology, Harris hadn't tried to read the DADA book before class. "I don't know, Professor." 

"Hmm," he huffed in disdain. "Exactly what I expected of _your_ mother's son." Harris glared, but dared not defend his mother's name. Or his brothers'. He wasn't sure exactly who was the target of the insult. 

Emily wasn't so restrained. "You just haven't met her son Clarence yet," she told him loftily. Harris couldn't stifle a laugh. Kid Genius would have known the answer, too, he was sure. 

Wallsby glowered at her for interrupting. "Ten points from Ravenclaw for impudence. And a detention, Miss Holland." 

Emily nodded acceptance and understanding of her punishment, but didn't look the least bit sorry for her comment. The class, and day, continued fairly uneventfully from there. Evidently taking Snape's warning to heart, Avery and Martin didn't even look in his direction as they got ready for bed that night. 

* * *

"Harris!" 

He stopped, feeling a creepy sense of déjà vu. Same hall, same voice, same time as yesterday. Turning slowly, he forced a friendly smile. "Hi, Aurora." 

She caught up with him quickly. "Meet me tonight at midnight at the Transfiguration room." No hello. No 'hi, how are you?' No small talk. It couldn't be a good sign. 

Harris frowned. Yesterday, her reason for accosting him here and now was because he'd betrayed her, so to speak, to his female housemates. She had threatened his life then. And now she wants to meet him, in the dead of night, in a deserted classroom? 

"Why?" he asked cautiously, not entirely putting a murder scheme past her. 

"It's important. Just come." 

She turned briskly on her heel and stalked back the way she had come. Watching her go, Harris couldn't help but think that if she only had robes more condusive to billowing, that she'd look like a smaller, lighter-haired version of Snape. Just before she turned a corner and moved out of sight, she looked back at him. "And come alone!" 

He shivered, despite the castle's early autumn warmth. Midnight. Alone. In a deserted room well past curfew. With a girl who told him that she wanted him dead. He had only an expired friendship to bolster his assumption that she had been joking. He looked nervously at where she had just been. _It's important. Just come._

If Aurora said it was important, it was important. But did he trust her? For all he knew, she considered doing away with him important. He wasn't going to argue the point. His death was important to him, too. He just didn't want it to happen yet. 

He briefly considered writing to Jansten to let him know Aurora might kill him tonight, but decided his brother would just take her side. She was Gryffindor, and even more importantly, a Merriweather. If she decided to kill a Slytherin, even (or perhaps especially) a Tragyl, she must have a good reason. Jansten reminded him of Aurora entirely too much sometimes. A violently upset stomach had been all that had separated his next-oldest brother from having been at the Merriweather residence _that_ night. It was the only time Mum had ever been thankful that one of her children was ill. 

Harris shook away the depressive thought, and continued his way to Saturday morning breakfast. The meal when about as well as could be hoped. He remembered to sit at the Slytherin table. Avery and Evalyn ignorned him, and Martin only flicked butter at him once. Only his worry about tonight kept him smashing his waffle to mush instead of eating it. 

Bill's Quiddich try-out was right after breakfast. The Eggment were there to cheer him on, of course. Charlie was his brother, after all. With the five Gryffidor first years, plus Harris, Bill easily had the largest cheering section of all the candidates. He was also pretty handy with a quaffle. For the two hours that the tryouts took, Harris almost forgot his distress about meeting with Aurora, and he cheered and jeered as loud as any Gryffindor. 

As they left the Quiddich pitch, leaving Bill, his competitors, and the team to shower and change, Charlie grinned at them all. "I think he's got a pretty good chance. We'll know tomorrow when they post the results in the Common Room." The Gryffindor Common Room. Harris would need to ask them later since _he_ certainly wasn't going to go in there just to find out if his second cousin made the team. 

Assuming, of course, that he lived until tomorrow. 

Lunch went as well as breakfast. He even looked up from his plate a few times. Avery and Evalyn were still ignoring him, and were quietly discussing their Charms homework. Madeline, Candice, and Aurora were - to him - conspicously absent. Were the two Slytherin girls in on tonight's murder. Was it Aurora who corrupted them or the other way around? He dared not draw attention to himself by asking Evalyn about it. 

The rest of the day until midnight passed excurciatingly slow. The Eggmen wanted to play tag again, a new version called 'team tag', but Harris was too nervous to try learning the rules or doing something so carefree. So he excused himself, pleading potions homework. 

The essay about wormroot did nothing to calm him. He wanted it perfect to impress Snape, so, if anything, he got more tense. The three hours spent in the library doing research on the plant did succeed in keeping him away from any Slytherins though. No self-respecting first year Slytherin would spend Saturday afternoon doing _homework_. 

* * *

He left dinner early and went directly to his bed. After perfecting his essay, he had gone to McGonagall - the only professor he felt he could truly trust, ironically enough - to ask her about protective wards. By dinnertime, he felt confident enough in his new skill to keep Avery and Martin from attacking him before midnight. 

Alone in his dorm, he set wards around his bed to keep anyone from opening his drapes. Feeling safe fro the first time since September first, he began to read ahead in the potions textbook. 

He had almost finished chapter three when Avery and Martin arrived. He closed the book after marking his place, and curled up defensively on his pillow, trying to stay silent, and making himself into as small a target as possible, even though they could neither see him nor get to him through the bed's curtains. That knowledge did little to make his heart slow down, though. 

"Is he in here?" Avery's voice. 

"Curtains closed. I'll check." Martin's footsteps approached, though Harris could bare hear them through the blood pounding in his ears. "They're stuck," Martin said, sounding startled. 

"What do you mean, they're stuck? They're cloth." 

"You try to open them, then." Sullen. 

A pause. "That's weird." Avery must have moved forward silently. "Suppose he's in there?" 

"Dunno." 

"Quiet." Both fell silent. Harris's heart pounded, and he was sure they must hear it. He held his breath, knowing if he tried to breath, it would be ragged. "Tragyl, I know you're in there!" 

Harris didn't reply, hoping the words were only a bluff. 

"I'm assuming you put this spell on your bed on purpose and you can take it off. I suggest you do that." 

_Not bloody likely._

"Because if you don't, I'm going to cast incendio on your bed." 

Harris's eyes widened. He didn't know if the ward would protect him from that. "I didn't put it on!" he lied, though the desperate fear in the words was completely unfeigned. "I'm stuck in here! McNair did it" The third year probably wouldn't be questioned about it. Harris hoped. 

Martin laughed, thankfully believing him. Avery remained silent, which worried him. Then there was the sounds of someone looking through drawers. Then that stopped. "Must be lonely in there, huh, Tragyl?" Avery called. "Maybe Vic can keep you company." 

That was all the warning Harris got before the snake was hurled over the curtain rail and dropped into the center of the bed. Harris screamed. Then screamed again and the furious creature lifted its head and prepared to strike. He dropped his spells and all but flew out of the reptile's way. 

Right into Martin's waiting arms. Harris screamed again, wondering wildly which snake was more dangerous - the reptile or the humans. He struggled to get free, but Martin was much larger and stronger, and had gained a strong grip before Harris had thought to wriggle. 

Knowing he was only delaying the inevitible, Harris stilled, aside from the nervous shaking his body insisted on. Avery came to stand in front of him, holding the snake and absently stroking its head. His eyes were cold. "So it was your spell." Beat. "I don't like being lied to, Tragyl." 

Martin's grip tightened threateningly. Harris glared past him to the smaller of his antagonists. "If your thug would stop hugging me, I could . . ." Harris trailed off, his bravado failing to coming up a reasonable lie. 

Offended, either at being called a thug or being accused of hugging, Martin propelled Harris into a wall. Harris let himself crumple to the ground, and then rolled over and sat up, facing the others. They both stood over him, blocking his exit. From this angle, even Avery looked tall. 

"Where'd you learn that spell, Tragyl?" 

Harris glared at them, trying to use anger to hid fear. "McGonagall." 

Avery cast a short burst of the bee sting curse he'd used two nights ago. Harris screamed in pain and curled into a tight, protective ball that did nothing to lessen the agony. When it stopped, Harris huddled against the wall, shaking and tear-stained. 

"You're not welcome here, Gryffindor." 

"I'm not a Gryffindor," he whispered, half-afraid of another dose of the curse. 

He was spared the curse, but Martin gave him a swift kick to the side. "Get out of our sight," Avery instructed, evidently not gracing Harris's denial with a response. The two Slytherins stepped aside, and Harris fled. Discretion was the better part of Valor, as Valr often repeated. 

He arrived at the Transfiguration room hours before he was expected. But there really wasn't anywhere else he could go. Sitting here, bored, in the dark, waiting for Aurora to kill him, was still infinitely better than staying around Avery and Martin tonight. 

It took him almost an hour to stop shaking and bring his breathing and heartrate back to normal. Even then, the occassional shiver shuddered down his frame, whenever he thought about what had just happened too much. 

Aurora arrived nearly half an hour before he expected her. She looked surprised to see him, as well. "You're early." 

"So are you." 

They regarded each other for a moment. "What happened?" she finally asked. 

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed the question, not caring to know how she knew to ask. "So are you planning to kill me, too? Or why else did you have me come?" 

She stepped forward dangerously. "Someone tried to kill you?" she demanded, either ignoring or not noticing his accusation against her. "That matters, Harris! You should tell someone." 

He shook his head. "Nevermind, Aurora. What's up?" Her reaction reassured him that _she_ didn't have designs on his life, anyway. Unless she just wanted to do it herself. 

She gave him a hard look that told him the subject, much as he wanted it to be, was not closed. "It was that Death Eater scum's spawn Avery, wasn't it." More statement than question. 

He shrugged. "It's not important." 

She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him so only a few inches of air separated their faces. Harris was suddenly even more terrified than he had been in his dorm. Her intense gaze was downright frightening. "I lost my mum, father, sister, brother, and dog to Death Eater scum. I'm not about to loose you, too." Okay. That solved the whether-or-not-Aurora-was-going-to-kill-him question. "Don't you dare tell me it's not important." She released him with a sharp shove backwards. 

"It's not exactly that he tried to _kill_ me, precisely," Harris dissembled, silently agreeing with her that his death was important. 

"What precisely did exactly happen then?" she asked in a dangerously low and hard voice. 

"He just told me to get out of the dorm. Said I wasn't welcome. Implied bad things would happen if I didn't. So I left. Had to meet with you anyway." He wasn't sure why he was protecting Avery and Martin. But Snape had said not to tell anyone about two nights ago, and he suspected tonight was in a similiar catagory. The same curse had be cast at any rate. He wondered if he should tell the Potions Master. Better to keep it in the House and Snape hadn't been pleased with the other two last time. 

She regarded him expressionlessly. He wasn't sure if she believed him or not. 

"So why did you want to see me?" 

She checked her watch. "Give Candi a few more minutes to get here." 

_Candi?_ "I take it you're getting along with some Slytherins besides me?" 

"Candi's all right. Madeline's quiet, like you said. I trust her as far as I can throw her, but Candi trusts her implicitly, which is why I trust her that far." The little French girl was the smallest of all the Slytherins, and Aurora was both tall and athletic. He suspected 'trusting her as far as I can throw her' was, in this one case, a compliment of Madeline's trustworthiness. 

Harris couldn't help smirking at her, feeling smug. 

"You were right, you know," she continued seriously, and far too easily for him to be comfortable with. He was going to have an ulcer by the time he was twelve if people didn't stop scaring him like this. Aurora was supposed to sigh and roll her eyes and be bitter and reluctant to admit such a thing. He couldn't gloat in the face of this solemnity. It made him think that it wasn't his 'some Slytherins are good people' point that she was acceeding to, but one of his more paranoid remarks. 

"About what?" he asked warily. 

"Candice didn't want to do anything herself." 

Fear crept into his face and voice. "Do what?" 

Aurora sat on one of the Transfiguration desks, and looked at him smugly. "Expose Wallsby." She looked delighted at the prospect. 

"Expose him? To what?" Whatever it was she planned, he was sure he wouldn't like it. 

"Not to. As. He's a Death Eater," she declared with malicious glee. "We're going to bring him down." 

Harris stared at her. Completely bonkers. That's what she was. "We can't do that." 

Her eyes narrowed in threat so quickly, Harris had to take an involuntary step back. "Why not?" she asked dangerously. 

He felt his shaking start again. Sure sign of impending nervous breakdown, no doubt. "Why not?" he repeated incredulously, only about an octave too high. "Because, because we don't know he is -" 

"Candice is sure. She's even pretty sure he's who killed her mother." 

"She can't know that," Harris denied, mostly because he didn't want it to be true. The implications were just too horrible if it was. It would mean there was a Death Eater at Hogwarts. It would mean one of You-Know-Whose faithful was placed in a positionn of trust where he could not only cripple young wizards from properly learning Defense against the Dark Arts, but encourage any or all of Slytherin House into the Dark Wizard's way. But worst of all, it meant that Harris would be obligated to _do_ something about it, if he was convinced of the teacher's guilt. "She's just trying to get a rise out of you." 

Aurora shook her head. "I believe her." 

Harris almost gaped. Aurora? Trusting the word of a Slytherin? One she'd just met? "That's mildly remarkable," he understated, "Why?" 

"You'll see when she explains." 

"And, and even if he were, we're just first years. He's a Death Eater. I think the scales are a little in his favor." 

"We have a couple advantages," Aurora disagreed, her glinting eyes reminding him of a stalking shark more than an eleven-year-old Gryffindor girl. "One. Candice's mother's diary. Two. Emily Holland's parents. Three. He won't be expecting us to do anything. So our first move has to be our last. Four. As long as we're in Hogwarts, he can't physically hurt us. Five. There's more of us than there is of him. Six. Dumbledore. And finally. You." 

"Me?" Harris squeaked, his questions about earlier points knocked right out of his mind. 

"You're unique, Harris." He stared at her, uncertain if that was a compliment, insult, or her idea of an explaination. She, thankfully, continued, "You're in the position to be friends with every House. Well, except Slytherin. No one will think it unusual if you hang out with Hufflepuffs one day, Ravenclaws the next, and Gryffindors the one after that. And you eat meals and go to class with Slytherins. You're the perfect go between." 

"Go between? Just how big a conspiracy are you planning?" 

"So far, we've recruited seven besides myself. That includes you." Clearly, 'recruitment' in her dictionary didn't include voluntary agreement. She should have used 'drafted'. 

"Who?" 

"Candice and Madeline. Emily and Evert Holland. The Hufflepuff twins. You. Me. Evert might try to bring in some of the other prefects. You might bring in the Eggmen." 

"And how many of these have you actually spoken with about this yet?" 

She had the grace to look mildly embarassed. "Well, Candice and Madeline. We spent most of today coming up with a game plan. Emily agreed to come tonight. She'll bring in her brother. You'll get the Hufflepuff twins." 

"I see Evalyn was left out of this?" 

"Observant, Harris. I'm proud of you." 

He ignored her sarcasm. "How'd you meet with Candice and Madeline without her?" 

"Charms homework. She did hers with Avery last night and didn't want to listen to us go over it again." 

They fell into a breif silence, which was soon interrupted by the door easing open. Candice stuck her head in, looked a little suprised to see Harris, then stepped inside. "I thought he wasn't coming until midnight," she said by way of greeting. 

"You know boys," Aurora said wryly, with a look at Harris to show she didn't completely mean it. "They can't follow simple directions." Harris was still left with the feeling that she _did_ mean it somewhat. 

Candice smirked. "So true." The conversation lulled as Candice sat herself on one of the tabletops near where Harris and Aurora were. Why use chairs when you could use tables? "Em'll be here at midnight," she added, setting her bookbag down beside her and pulling out her mother's diary. "I told her then, because I thought we'd introduce the problem to the both of them," she waved a dismissive gesture to include Harris, "at the same time." 

"We were going to use the next fifteen minutes to discuss our approach," Aurora added, speaking to him. Harris nodded his thanks for that clarification. 

The next fifteen minutes passed slowly and awkwardly with only short bursts of conversation that would include Aurora and Candic or Aurora and Harris. Candice, apparently, didn't want to get in the habit of treating him in a friendly fashion, and so spent a great deal of effort ignoring him. 

Emily arrived just before midnight, bringing the House count to three. One Gryffindor, two Slytherins, and a Ravenclaw. Emily noticed and grinned, "Harris, you just attract multi-house gatherings, don't you?" 

He shrugged, "Not on purpose." 

Aurora interrupted the idle chatter. "Ok, Candi and I called you both here for a reason." 

Emily's brows lifted in surprise. "I had assumed this was a Slytherin plot that you got roped into, not a joint Slytherin-Gryffidnor thing." 

Aurora shook her head, but deferred to Candice to answer. "It's Candi's story to tell." 

Candice drew in a preparatory breath. "It started Sunday, I guess. Evalyn, Madeline, Harris, and I were looking through my mother's diary for any remarks about Harris's grandfather's trial. That got me thinking about the diary again. I've never really read it all the way through. So that night, after lights out, I pulled out my dad's flashlight, charmed by Mrs. Holland to work here, and started reading. Well, skimming really. That's when I found this page." She flipped through the stack of parchment that made up her mother's 'diary' and pulled out a sheet from somewhere near the late middle. She handed it over to Emily. Harris read over her shoulder. 

_Today the team went to Knockturn. We raided a few shops, but, like most of these trips lately, we were really just seeing who spilled out of the woodwork. Imagine my surprise when my old DADA teacher, Professor Wallsby, came out of one of the more notorious bars. Sure, I could almost expect him to spend some time in Knockturn, but in that bar? It was peculiar, and I don't like peculiar. _

_ My team, Gryffindors that they are, didn't find it odd. To them, all of Knockturn is bad and Dark and Slytherin. A bar is a bar. They see none of the different levels. The Two Knuts, for example, is just a low-class joint, completely on the level and legit. They just sell really cheap, nasty, and watered down brews. The Rotten Hag, on the other hand, the bar Wallsby left, is considered even by my parents to be bad news. When I went to the Alley as a kid, they pointed it out and warned that you don't go in there unless you're ready to die or kill. There was no concievable reason a Hogwarts professor, even a Slytherin DADA one, should be in there._

_I tried to explain this to the team, but they thought I was reading too much into it. Wallsby's Slytherin and he teaches DADA, he was probably all right. Dumbledore hired him, after all. They never liked Wallsby, and it doesn't surprise them to see him in the Alley. What they don't realize is that Wallsby was at Hogwarts a year before Dumbledore became Headmaster. I looked that up when we went off-duty._

_It's probably paranoia on my part, but this just bothers me. Candi will be going there in a few years._

Emily handed the paper back wordlessly. Harris felt compelled to point out, "That's suspicion, not proof. My Grandfather was probably in that pub, too." 

"And your Grandfather now lives in a cell in Azkaban," Candice pointed out acerbically. 

Harris glowered at her. "Doesn't change that he was innocent." Sort of. 

"He supported Voldemort, that is not innocent," Candice disagreed. 

"In words only! He was too drunk all the time to _do_ anything about it!" 

"Harris, let it go," Aurora interrupted the argument. "Your Grandfather was a piece of pond scum." 

"Not arguing _that_," Harris grumbled, then more clearly, "I was just saying that just because someone was in that pub, doesn't mean they were really Death Eaters." 

Aurora nodded impatiently, "Ok, fine. Granted. Candi, if you would continue?" 

Candice took a deep breath, then shuffled down to the bottom page. "I read this one early on, of course. It was the last thing she ever wrote in life. I just hadn't made the connection. I mean, Wallsby isn't really a _common_ name, exactly, but who'd've thought she meant a Hogwarts professor? I reread it just before DADA class, which made that class _real_ fun." She handed the sheet over to Emily. 

_I got a tip on Wallsby yesterday. I've told you all about how the team thinks I being paranoid about this, so I'm going to check it out alone this evening. Just a quick in and out, to see if anything unusual sticks out. I don't really expect it to, but at this point it's a matter of pride. And you know how Slytherins are about that. I'm gonna nail that bastard, or I'm going to make a fool of myself by proving everyone else right. Either way, I'll be glad of it. I just need to KNOW. I've got a daughter to protect._

Emily looked over at him to be sure he had finished before returning the sheet back to Candice. "She never came home that night," Candice picked up her tail, being obviously careful to keep her voice even. "She was found in Knockturn Alley, dead, face down in an alley. No one was ever convicted, or even arrested. There was a small inquiry into Wallsby's whereabouts, at my father's insistance, but nothing ever came of it. Inconclusive evidence. Worse than Malfoy, really. Everyone _knows_ Malfoy's Death Eater scum. Wallsby's above suspicion. Even Snape actually went to trial." 

"He what!" Harris exclaimed, startled out of his sympathetic but unconvinced attitude. Surely she couldn't be talking about _Professor Snape_. Not after the teacher had helped him two nights ago. 

"He went to trial," Emily repeated, as though this were common knowledge. "Dumbledore vouched for him, though." 

Harris looked between the two aurors' children, looking for signs that his leg was being pulled. Unfortunately, there were none. "Snape? Potions Master Snape?" he asked, disbelieving. 

"You know another one?" Candice asked archly. 

He shook his head. "No, but." Knee jerk denial, there was nothing to follow the but. Then he thought of something, not about Snape, but about Wallsby. "But just because she went looking for the Professor doesn't mean it was him who killed him. Circumstantial evidence. Like the Ministry said, inconclusive." 

"You sound like your father," Aurora complained. 

Harris shrugged, not caring. Being a Ministry Judge, his father would know what he was talking about on the subject. Besides, he was right. "Actually, you don't even have anything as strong as circumstantial evidence. All you've got is _possible_ motive, that's just as likely to be paranoia on an auror's part." Who knew his father's lessons on critical thinking would come in so handy? "You don't have anything remotely like proof." 

"So we find proof," Aurora declared, looking more alive and determined that he could remember seeing her in a very long time. He even thought he saw _excitement_ burning in those so-long-dead eyes. And for that alone, Harris was left with only one option. He hated his life. At least it wouldn't last much longer. 

"So what's the plan?" he asked in defeat. 

All three girls smiled beautifically at him. And people said Voldemort was scary. 

Later that night, he went up to Gryffindor Tower with Aurora, and dropped, exhausted, into the green and silver draped bed without waking any of the other first year boys. If he was going to die in the next few days, he didn't want it to happen in his sleep.   
  
  


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